UNCLE  PHIL 

A  NOVEL 


MRS.  JOHN  A\.CLAY 


TEHNYsoH  NEELY, 
W  YO^I<  ;  LoHoofJ 


6ERTRAND  SMI     -<i 
ACKtS  OF  BOOKS 
149  PACIFIC  AVENUE 
.  CALIF. 


UNCLE  PHIL. 

A  NOVEL. 


BY 


MRS.  JOHN   M.  CLAY, 

Author  of  "What  Will  the  World  Say,"  "Only  a  Woman,"  and 
"Some  Little  of  the  Angel  Still  Left." 


L. 


^J 


"PLEASURE  is  EVIL'S  CHIEF  BAIT;  THE  BODY  THE  PRINCIPAL  CALAM- 
ITY OF  THE  SOUL;  AND  THOSE  THOUGHTS  WHICH  MOST  SEPARATE  IT  AND 
TAKE  IT  FROM  THE  AFFECTIONS  OF  THE  BODY,  MOST  ENFRANCHISE  AND 

PURIFY  IT."— Plato. 


CHICAGO. 


F.  TENNYSON  NEELY, 

PUBLISHER, 

114 
FIFTH  AVENUE, 

NEW  YORK. 


LONDON. 


Copyright,   1899, 

by 
F.  TENNYSON  NEBLT. 

In 
United  States 

and 
Great  Britain. 

All  Right!  Reserved. 


THIS  VOLUMB  IS  INSCRIBED 

TO  THB    MEMORY   OF 

MV  ANCESTOR 

BRIGADIER-GENERAL  WILLIAM  RUSSELL 

OF   THE   CONTINENTAL  ARMY 

WHICH   ACHIEVED 
AMERICAN   INDEPENDENCE. 


2046146 


CONTENTS. 


Chapter.  I'age 

I.  FAIB  AND  FREE  is  THE  KING'S  HIGHWAY,     .        .  7 

II.  LET  THE  JUSTICE  OF  THE  KING  PASS  BY,          .  18 

III.  AN  INFANT  TERRIBLE, 30 

IV.  A  MUSSEL  STEW,          ......  37 

V.  THE  BAL  MILITAIBE, 54 

VI.  DAVID  AND  JONATHAN, 75 

VII.  TEA  DRINKING, 85 

VIII.  "I  WILL  BE  TRUE  TO  You  TILL  I  DIE,"    .        .  97 

IX.  TROUBLED  WATERS, Ill 

X.  AN  OMEN, 131 

XI.  THE  WATEBS  OF  MABAH, 128 

XII.  AZBAEL 146 

XIII.  THE  IRON  COLLAR, 164 

XIV.  "SOBBOW'S  CBOWN  OF  SORROWS,"       .        .        .  175 

XV.  "Ms  TER  BE  WHOOPPED  ! " 188 

XVI.  "A  LITTLE  CLOUD   OUT  OF  THE   SEA    LIKE  A 

MAN'S  HAND, 199 

XVII.  THE  BISHOP  OF  MOBILE, 216 

XVIII.  THE  OLD  LOVER  EN  SCENE,    .        .        .  226 

XIX.  CARRYING  THE  DISPATCH,          ....  240 

XX.  MINE  EYES  HATH  SEEN  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  LORD,  262 


UNCLE  PHIL 


CHAPTER  I. 

FAIR  AND  FREE  IS  THE  KING'S  HIGHWAY. 

"Keep  your  heart  as  light  as  you  can, 
An  ounce  of  care  killed  a  man." 

The  inhabitants,  which  are  mostly  of  the  Spanish 
race,  of  the  peaceful  little  city  of  Bonito,  are  in  the 
enjoyment  of  the  post-meridian  siesta. 

There  are  exceptions,  however,  for,  standing  in  the 
corridor  of  an  ancient  adobe  building — its  flagstaff, 
from  which  floats  the  American  flag,  proclaims  its 
official  character — and  fronting  the  pier,  for  Bonito 
has  a  seaport,  are  three  young  people:  sister  and 
brothers,  as  evidenced  by  the  strong  resemblance 
they  bear  one  to  another;  cast  in  the  same  generous 
mold,  with  the  same  upright  carriage,  lofty  poise  of 
head,  and  noble,  finely  chiseled  features.  The  girl 
is  young,  not  eighteen,  and  her  brothers  only  a  few 
years  older. 

These  young  people,  contemplating  a  fishing  ex- 
cursion, are  busily  engaged  selecting  hooks  and 
lines  from  a  large  assortment,  filling  a  good-sized 
box ;  that  is,  Miss  Geraldine  Southampton  has  the 

7 


8  UNCLE  PHIL. 

matter  in  hand  with  an  arbitrariness  that  does  not 
allow  a  different  opinion  to  emanate  from  either  of 
the  young  men,  had  they  one,  which  most  likely  they 
had  not,  for  the  young  lady's  manner  clearly  indi- 
cated that  she  knew  what  she  was  about.  Her  quick 
fingers  soon  filled  a  small  basket  with  all  she  deemed 
needed;  then  she  announced  in  a  voice  distinctly 
clear  and  musical,  though  tinctured  with  an  imperi- 
ous ring,  such  as  the  fortunate  individual,  male  or 
female,  unused  to  contradiction,  will  naturally 
acquire:  "Now,  South  and  Fred,  we  are  ready, 
and  we  are  going  to  fish  for  fish  on  the  briny  deep — 
every  mother's  son  of  us." 

This  questionable  piece  of  witticism  receives 
plaudits  beyond  its  merits,  and  the  three  of  them 
begin  their  walk  toward  the  mole.  At  its  steps  lies 
a  small  boat,  manned  by  two  oarsmen  of  widely 
differing  places  of  birth.  Uncle  Phil,  the  first  in  im- 
portance, was  a  "cullered  pusson,"  as  he  himself 
stated  with  distinctness  and  frequency,  leaving  no 
room  for  a  reasonable  doubt.  Also  that  he  first 
saw  the  light  of  day  in  "Wirginny"  was  a  circum- 
stance of  no  inconsiderable  pride  to  him,  and  was 
superfluously  commented  on;  at  least  such  was  the 
opinion  entertained  by  those  who  enjoyed  his  ac- 
quaintance. The  other  boatman  was  a  Hawaiian, 
and  per  consequence,  known  as  "Kanaka  Jack." 

The  distance  to  be  traversed  was  short,  and,  the 
young  lady  placing  herself  between  her  brothers, 


UNCLE  PHIL.  9 

they  started,  but  she  soon  about-faced,  preferring 
to  progress  the  backward  way,  as  the  opportunity 
was  thus  afforded  of  carrying  on  her  conversation 
face  to  face.  This  conversation,  or  rather  mono- 
logue, for  such  was  its  character,  was  animated  and 
joyous  until  the  very  brink  of  the  unbalustered  mole 
was  reached.  Here  she  folded  her  hands,  and,  poising 
on  the  tip  of  a  well-made  French  boot,  executed  a 
pirouette.  The  time  consumed  in  this  performance 
was  short,  yet  long  enough  to  effect  a  marked 
change  in  the  temper  of  Miss  Southampton. 

"Which  of  you  did  it?"  she  demanded  sharply. 

Simultaneously,  the  brothers  glancing  over  their 
shoulders,  understood  the  situation. 

"It  was  not  me,"  promptly  asserted  the  younger 
brother,  called  Fred,  ungrammatical  in  the  eager- 
ness of  his  denial. 

The  elder  brother  looked  confused,  thereby  con- 
fessing guilt.  The  angry  young  lady  went  on  viva- 
ciously: "What  do  you  mean,  Southampton?  We 
were  going  to  have  such  a  comfortable  afternoon; 
and  you  have  spoiled  it  all.  Caramba !" 

"Sister,"  said  the  offender  apologetically.  "I  did 
not  invite  Mr.  Hamilton,  indeed  I  did  not.  We 
chanced  to  be  passing  when  I  told  Jack  to  have  the 
boat  in  readiness,  and  to  put  a  rug  in,  as  you  were 
going  out  on  the  bay  with  us.  And  when  he  said,  he 
believed  he  would  go  along  with  us,  of  course,  I 
couldn't  tell  him  he  was  not  wanted."  This  was 


10  UNCLE  PHIL. 

said  in  an  undertone,  and  meant  for  Miss  South- 
ampton's private  ear,  and  as  a  suggestion  that  so- 
cial amenities  should  ever  rise  superior  to  such 
trifles  as  personal  animosities.  The  appeal  for  pax 
Miss  Southampton  trampled  under  foot,  and  she 
answered,  raising  her  voice,  and  changing  her  post- 
ure so  as  to  let  the  full  force  of  an  uncompromis- 
ing glance  of  displeasure  rest  upon  the  newcomer, 
whose  appearance  being  perfectly  correct  and  of 
the  genus  gentilhomme,  does  not  seem  to  warrant 
such  a  display  of  hostility :  "Of  course  you  couldn't ! 
Not  having  a  tongue  in  your  head !" 

To  come  to  the  gist  of  the  matter,  the  weakness 
to  love  where  one  should  not  is  a  common  frailty, 
or  a  common  attribute.  Who  cares  for  the  willing 
peach  just  to  your  hand?  The  one  that  is  high  up 
and  difficult  to  get  is  the  desirable  one.  And  the 
head  and  front  of  this  Mr.  Hamilton's  offending 
was  a  fortuitous  fondness  for  the  good-looking 
young  lady  which  led  him  on  to  persistency  of  at- 
tentions after  she  had  in  the  most  unreserved  man- 
ner indicated  that  she  wanted  none  of  him.  But  he 
had  heard  about  faint  heart,  etc.,  and  being  of  a 
determined,  not  to  say  obstinate,  disposition,  he  de- 
termined to  persevere  and  take  his  chance  for  a 
rosier  future,  utterly  ignoring  rebuffs.  So,  not 
choosing  to  see  Miss  Geraldine  Southampton's 
black  looks,  he  constrained  himself  to  say  quite 
cheerfully :  "I  am  just  in  time  not  to  be  too  late." 


UNCLE  FHIL.  11 

With  a  laudable  effort  to  pour  oil  on  the  troubled 
waters,  the  brother  who  had  been  called  Southamp- 
ton said,  in  a  propitiatory  tone :  "Come,  sister,  let 
me  help  you  down." 

"I  am  not  going,"  she  said  shortly,  "and  it  is  very 
provoking,"  looking  the  late  arrival  full  in  the  face, 
"to  have  my  fishing  party  spoiled  by  this  intrusion." 

The  brothers  remained  silent,  but  exchanged  com- 
ical looks,  as  they  passed  down  the  steps  and  seated 
themselves  in  the  boat;  then  came  the  invitation: 
"Jump  in,  Hammy." 

"I  have  changed  my  mind,  and  decided  not  to  go," 
replied  Mr.  Hamilton. 

The  little  boat  is  quickly  pulled  out  of  the  dark 
green  waters  contiguous  to  the  mole,  and  is  danc- 
ing merrily  over  the  short  cross  waves  of  the  ground- 
swell. 

"Hasta  luego,"  said  the  brothers,  raising  their 
hats  to  their  sister,  and  being  good-hearted  young 
gentlemen,  they  bestow  upon  her  companion  a  nil 
desperandum  look.  Then  brother  Fred  exemplifies 
the  deceitful  nature  of  a  man's  heart  by  indulging 
in  an  unsympathizing  laugh  before  remarking:  "I 
rather  think  Hammy  will  be  favored  with  a  round, 
unvarnished  tale." 

"What's  the  use  of  a  man  making  a  fool  of  him- 
self?" was  the  free  comment  of  the  other,  while  se- 
lecting a  line  to  drop  over  into  the  bay.  "And,"  con- 
tinued the  young  philosopher,  "when  it  is  estab- 


12  UNCLE  PHIL. 

lished  beyond  a  doubt  that  the  moon  is  not  to  be  had 
for  illuminating  purposes  why  can't  one  be  content- 
ed with  a  serviceable  bull's-eye  lantern?" 

Miss  Southampton  barely  takes  time  to  give 
"Hammy"  a  scornful  look  before  she,  rudely  turn- 
ing her  back,  starts  homeward. 

The  infatuated  young  man  will  not  be  warned — 
in  such  cases  though  one  were  to  rise  from  the  dead 
to  discourage  a  forward  movement,  it  would  be  un- 
availing— and  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  he  is 
at  her  side. 

Her  angry  looks  become  angrier.  So  far  this 
young  lady  has  scarcely  had  a  crumpled  roseleaf  to 
pass  over,  and  that  useful  virtue,  patience,  is  not  in- 
herent, nor  has  she  yet  acquired  it,  nor  has  it  been 
necessary.  Her  pleasure,  like  the  "je  le  veux"  of 
Louis  XIV.,  had  been  the  recognized  law,  and  with- 
out the  foreshadowing  of  evil  times  to  come,  which 
extorted  from  the  monarch  the  woeful :  "Apus  vous 
le  deluge." 

There  is  silence  for  a  very  short  minute,  then  the 
young  lady,  facing  her  companion,  said  abruptly : 
"I  have  a  word  to  say  to  you." 

"It  would  give  me  pleasure  to  listen  to  a  great 
many  words  from  you,"  was  the  polite  response. 

Her  brown  eyes  flashed,  and  without  the  prelim- 
inaries of  an  accomplished  fencer  going  through  a 
series  of  courteous  salutes  while  promising  himself 
the  pleasure  of  running  his  adversary"  through,  she 


UNCLE  PHIL.  13 

raised  her  rapier,  so  to  speak,  and  commenced  hos- 
tilities of  the  most  energetic  character.  "I  would 
prefer  not  to  be  compelled  to  speak  to  you  at  all, 
and  I  will  be  brief  and  to  the  point.  Without  at- 
tempting to  explain  my  aversion  to  you,  it  has  been 
apparent  to  the  meanest  understanding,  and  had 
you  the  faintest  conception  of  what  belongs  to  the 
organization  of  a  gentleman  when  you  saw  that  at- 
tentions from  you  were  disagreeable  to  me,  you 
would  have  ceased  them.  But  instead  of  that  in- 
contestably  proper  conduct  what  should  you  do — I 
have  not  been  blind ! — but  go  to  work  systematically 
to  ingratiate  yourself  with  Mrs.  Southampton  in 
order  to  afford  you  opportunities  for  your  odious 
persecutions,  when  the  very  sight  of  you  is  hateful 
to  me.  I  tell  you  now,"  she  continued  impetuously, 
"you  must  change  your  course,  or  I  will  complain  to 
my  brothers — and  when  I  do,"  with  emphasis,  "you 
will  be  tossed  into  the  bay." 

The  dull  red  that  suffused  his  face  alone  showed 
how  the  girl's  scorn  had  touched  him,  though  he 
replied  with  immovable  calmness: 

"I  think  I  might  be  able  to  prevent  such  a  watery 
taking  off.  I  am  no  Hotspur,  but  no  one  can  tell 
what  sword  is  in  the  scabbard  till  it  is  drawn — and 
the  brothers  might  come  to  grief." 

She  laughed.  The  idea  seemed  to  amuse  her.  "It 
is  so  supremely  ridiculous,"  said  she,  "the  warning 
that  you  might  injure  South  or  Fred.  Why,  they 


14  UNCLE  PHIL. 

are  men,  while  you  are  so  contemptible — that  I  have 
no  name  for  you." 

Had  the  young  girl  been  wise  she  wou]d  have  seen 
the  dangerous  light  that  shone  in  the  gray  eyes  op- 
posite to  her,  and  paused  before  recklessly  defying 
a  demon  born  of  a  despised  man's  bad  passions.  It 
had  been  well  for  her  could  she  have  looked  into 
futurity  and  asked  herself  the  question,  how  was 
she  prepared  to  resist  in  a  deadly  combat?  Of  what 
avail  would  be  her  honest,  open,  childishly  passion- 
ate cut  and  thrust  against  the  thirsty  blade  that 
merely  parried;  yet  always  creeping  closer  and 
closer  until  the  moment  served  to  overleap  her 
guard  and  effect  its  certain  work  of  destruction. 

Just  so  was  the  hapless  Marie  Antoinette  all  un- 
conscious of  danger ;  and  rather  than  make  conces- 
sions to  "Jaques  bon  homme"  would  prefer  being 
sent  to  the  tower  for  two  months :  And  her  flippant 
speech  when  told  that  the  people  had  no  bread, 
"Why,  then,  let  them  live  on  cake,"  was  awful  in  its 
recoil.  The  beast  she  had  trodden  under  foot  rose 
supreme  over  the  ancient  dynasty  and  inaugurated 
its  own  Reign  of  Terror,  and  the  Queen's  proud  head 
was  sent  to  the  guillotine. 

Meanwhile,  strike  up  the  music ! — vive  la  dance 
—fare  gayly  along  until  surprised  by  the  hand- writ- 
ing on  the  wall.  There  is  time  enough  later  on  to 
bring  in  the  death's  head  at  the  feast, 

Hamilton  stood  quite  still  after  her  insulting 


UNCLE  PHIL.  15 

words,  and  suffered  her  to  walk  away,  then  he  re- 
peated in  a  low,  quivering  tone,  every  muscle  of  his 
face  working  with  rage :  "Contemptible,  am  I  ?  You 
have  gone  too  far,  my  young  princess.  Before  your 
time  bona  fide  sovereigns  have  been  compelled  to 
abdicate  and  grovel  at  the  mercy  of  the  victor.  Suc- 
cess is  promised  to  those  who  can  wait.  I  can  wait, 
and  perhaps  I,  too,  may  laugh — and  laugh  last." 

As  the  crow  flies,  the  distance  was  short  that  lay 
between  Miss  Southampton  and  her  home,  but  that 
versatile  young  lady  was  not  in  the  humor  to  con- 
fine herself  to  straight  mathematical  lines.  And  she 
stayed  her  progress  to  deliver  a  fluent  lecture  to 
some  Spanish  muchachos  who  were  fishing  for  tar- 
antulas— which  could  be  seen  in  all  their  ugliness 
moving  low  down  among  the  damp  timbers  support- 
ing the  little  pier — on  the  pursuit  of  so  ignoble  a 
pastime.  Then  she,  very  meritoriously,  assisted 
an  old  woman  who  had  dropped  her  basket  and  scat- 
tered the  pine  cones  she  was  carrying  home  to  boil 
her  kettle,  and  she  impressed  two  naval  officers  of 
high  degree,  who  had  just  been  rowed  to  the  shore 
from  their  ship,  in  the  same  charitable  work,  despite 
their  evident  reluctance,  and  would  not  allow  them 
to  desist  until  the  very  last  cone  was  picked  up,  and 
she  laughed  so  merrily,  when  they  glanced  ruefully 
at  their  soiled  gloves,  that  they  went  on  their  way 
discomfited.  Her  attention  then  was  directed  to 
a  squad  of  raw  recruits  a  drill-sergeant  had  brought 


18  UNCLE  PHIL. 

down  from  the  fort;  they  had  set  up  a  regimental 
target  on  the  beach  for  ball-practice.  Seeing  their 
awkwardness,  the  capable  Miss  Southampton  took 
them  in  charge,  and  her  instructions  were  so  lucid, 
and  illustrated  by  some  splendid  shots,  that  the 
non-commissioned  officer  gazed  at  her  in  open- 
mouthed  wonder,  and  one  of  the  squad,  an  Irish- 
man, declared  with  national  gallantry:  "It  is  me- 
self  that  could  stand  here  till  the  crack  of  doom, 
without  mate  or  drink,  watching  of  the  swate  young 
leddy." 

She  next  took  in  an  awning  under  which  some 
sailors — allowed  on  shore  for  the  purpose — sat 
mending  sails,  and  she  returned  their  salutations. 
"An'  please  mum,  we  would  wish  you  a  good  arter- 
noon,"  with  a  politeness  more  gracious  than  she 
would  have  shown  to  their  officers.  With  evident 
interest  she  observed  the  stitching  done  by  their 
leather-sheathed  fingers,  and  told  them  that  they 
were  doing  their  work  very  well.  These  men  were 
rough,  the  scrapings  of  their  different  nationali- 
ties, yet  from  this  hour,  in  which  Colonel  South- 
ampton's daughter  had  gone  out  of  her  way  to  speak 
to  them  a  few  words  of  genuine  kindness,  they  felt 
something  less  of  bitterness  toward  their  betters, 
and  that  "the  quality  was  not  all  agin  us,  and  pity 
there  ain't  more  like  her." 

A  few  more  minor  meetings  and  greetings,  en- 
gagements for  rides  and  drives,  dances,  and  so  on, 


UNCLE  PHIL.  17 

bring  her  to  the  corridor  she  had  so  lately  quitted, 
and  where  now  stands  a  man. singularly  handsome, 
and  so  apparently  young,  that  it  is  a  matter  for  sur- 
prise when  Miss  Geraldine  Southampton,  in  the 
exuberance  of  her  spirits,  dances  rather  than  walks 
up  to  him,  and  calls  him  papa.  Then  in  the  glad- 
ness of  her  fresh,  young  heart  she  dances  backward 
to  the  extreme  verge  of  the  open  corridor  and  rests 
there  poised  on  one  foot. 

Her  father's  loving  glances  rest  upon  her  without 
a  shade  of  uneasiness.  It  were  as  well  to  fear  a  bird 
might  fall,  so  free  and  graceful  is  every  movement 
of  that  lithe,  winsome  body. 

She  is  above  the  average  height  of  women,  but 
formed  in  the  perfection  of  symmetry.  Her  clear, 
sparkling  eyes  and  the  brilliant  hue  of  her  com- 
plexion are  due  to  robust  health,  but  the  ever-chang- 
ing expression  of  her  mobile  features  come  from  an 
immortal,  indwelling  beauty,  irresistible. 


18  UNCLE  PHIL. 


CHAPTER  II. 

LET  THE  JUSTICE  OF  THE  KING  PASS  BY. 

"Curious  fool,  be  still! 
Is  human  love  the  growth  of  human  will?" 

Colonel  Southampton  is  a  Virginian,  and  indeli- 
bly stamped  on  his  forehead  are  the  cabalistic  let- 
ters F.  F.  V.  Many  years  previous  his  large  estates 
had  been  swallowed  up  by  the  too  ardent  support  of 
a  political  friend  who  failed  in  his  election.  Find- 
ing himself  in  the  position  of  a  financially  ruined 
man  he  willingly  accepted  the  office  of  consul  to 
this  far-away  place.  The  expatriation,  as  it  seemed, 
was  accepted  with  greater  willingness,  allured  by 
the  hope  that  a  change  of  climate  would  restore  to 
health  his  invalid  wife.  Administration  succeeded 
administration  without  the  loss  of  his  post.  And 
when  by  the  treaty  of  Guadaloupe  Hidalgo  Califor- 
nia became  one  of  the  United  States  the  office  of 
consul  lapsed  and  the  genial,  popular,  gentleman 
was  appointed  collector  of  customs.  Thus  almost 
all  the  years  of  his  daughter's  life  had  been  passed, 
as  it  were,  under  the  immediate  guardianship  of 
the  American  flag;  and  well  she  loved  its  beautiful 
stars  and  stripes. 

Life's  pleasures  which  are  often  grudgingly  be- 


UNCLE  PHIL.  19 

stowed,  and  like  angel's  visits  come  so  few  and  far 
between,  had  been  showered  down  upon  this  girl 
as  from  an  overturned  cornucopia. 

To  her  father  and  brothers  she  was  an  object  of 
idolatry;  of  the  fetich  worship  of  Uncle  Phil,  the 
faithful  servant  who  voluntarily  had  left  kith  and 
kin  to  follow  the  broken  fortunes  of  her  father's 
house;  of  praise  and  flattery,  to  injurious  excess, 
from  the  resident  grandees  who  had  watched  the 
lovely  child  grow  up  "conio  nosotras ;"  and  of  many 
of  the  naval  and  army  officers  of  her  own  country, 
besides  the  naval  officers  of  almost  every  nationality 
whose  ships  had  touched  in  at  that  golden  port. 
Small  wonder  then  that  her  face  should  wear  the 
joyous  gleams  of  a  spirit  unacquainted  with  misfor- 
tune and  sorrow. 

Something  of  a  pang — perhaps  not  the  first — 
smote  the  heart  of  Colonel  Southampton  as  he 
marked  the  radiant  being  before  him.  What  if  sor- 
rows should  befall  her — the  slightest  one  he  would 
die  to  avert.  How  could  she  bear  them? 

His  face  clouded — an  unpleasant  duty  was  before 
him.  He  sighed. 

"Come  here,  Gerry,  I  have  news  for  you." 

The  young  princess  clasping  her  hands,  and  with 
a  spring  almost  as  artistic  as  Helarios,  bounded  to 
her  father's  side. 

"Now,  don't  be  vexed,"  he  said  soothingly.  "I 
wouldn't  tell  you  until  the  last  moment,  but " 


20  UNCLE  PHIL. 

plunging  in  medias  res,  "Southampton  and  Frederic 
are  to  leave  us  in  the  morning,  in  the  Arrow,  for 

China." 

"Those  boys  are  going  to  do  nothing  of  the  sort ! 
I  am  not  going  to  allow  it!"  she  said  imperiously. 

"Listen,  my  own  pet,"  was  the  grave  answer. 
"Your  brothers  are  men  now,  and  it  is  high  time  for 
them  to  engage  in  the  commercial  enterprises  of 
men.  This  is  a  good  opening  for  them.  They  must 
begin  to  make  money  for  my  Gerry.  I  have  been 
doing  little  else  all  my  life  than  spending.  I  am  a 
poor  man." 

A  bright  flush  suffused  her  face. 

"Papa !  papa !"  she  exclaimed  impetuously,  "Oh, 
why  did  you  not  tell  me  this  before?  It  is  I  who 
have  been  spending  all  your  money !  Mrs.  South- 
ampton says" — she  suddenly  stopped,  embarrassed. 

The  present  Mrs*  Southampton  was  not  her  moth- 
er, of  whom  she  had  scarcely  any  remembrance,  her 
place  had  been  so  soon  filled  by  the  handsome  wid- 
ower. But  the  fair  young  bride  inherited  delicacy 
of  constitution,  and  after  enjoying  to  the  full  a  short 
season  of  post-nuptial  gayeties — beyond  her 
strength — succumbed  to  feelings  of  lassitude,  pass- 
ing her  days  on  a  sofa.  Her  only  occupation  was 
reading  novels.  The  further  indulgence  of  a  nightly 
potion  to  induce  slumber  quickly  became  a  habit. 

Colonel  Southampton  had  never  been  ill  in  his 
life,  never  so  much  as  to  feel  "a  little  under  the 


UNCLE  PHIL.  21 

weather,"  and  how  was  it  possible  for  him  to  under- 
stand hypochondria,  and  that  subtle  malady  which 
coils  round  its  victim  and  so  successfully  counter- 
feits every  form  of  human  suffering?  That  she  fre- 
quently thought  herself  to  be  at  the  point  of  death 
was  a  stretch  of  her  imagination  too  intrinsically 
ridiculous  to  excite  sympathy.  And  small  wonder 
that  Colonel  Southampton  was  soon  forced  to  ad- 
mit to  himself  that  he,  too,  like  Sinbad  the  Sailor, 
was  burdened  with  an  Old  Man  of  the  Sea.  And  it 
did  not  help  the  matter  much  that  his  equestrian 
was  an  invalid  wife,  whose  peevish  exactions  were 
none  the  less  hard  to  bear  that  they  must  impera- 
tively be  born  in  uncomplaining  silence.  His  chil- 
dren, loving  and  admiring  their  brilliant  father, 
regarded  "Mrs.  Southampton"  with  extreme  dis- 
favor, and  in  the  endeavor  to  live  as  though  she 
were  not,  adhered  as  much  as  was  possible  to  the 
non- intercourse  system;  easy  enough,  as  the  lady 
seldom  left  her  own  apartments.  And,  oh,  the  pity 
of  it !  With  all  the  inflexible  strength  of  a  weak 
nature  she  hated  the  young  people  living  under  the 
same  roof ;  the  sight  of  the  health,  youth  and  beau- 
ty, which  had  forever  departed  from  her,  exciting 
emotions  of  the  bitterest  resentment  and  envy. 

"I  was  going  to  say,  papa,"  continued  Miss  Ger- 
aldine,  "that  it  is  quite  useless  to  import  my  gowns, 
gloves  and  boots.  I  have  never  thought  much  about 
it!  But  I  must  be  a  dreadful  expense  to  you — 


22  UNCLE  PHIL. 

everything  costs  so  high.  My  petticoats  are  made 
here,  but  they  are  seventy-five  dollars  apiece,  and 
they  are  not  embroidered  up  so  very  high.  Just 
see,"  she  said,  raising  her  dress-skirt  and  gazing  re- 
flectively at  the  delicately  embroidered  white  drap- 
eries. 

"I  have  no  doubt,  Gerry,  that  your  petticoats  are 
perfectly  correct,"  answered  Colonel  Southampton, 
not  availing  himself  of  the  inspection  invited,  "and 
I  have  no  fault  to  find  with  your  clothes,  which  are 
exactly  such  as  Miss  Southampton  should  wear." 

"I  should  be  Miss  Southampton  in  any  clothes," 
she  replied,  giving  a  backward  toss  to  her  handsome 
head.  "And,  papa,"  she  added  wistfully,  "why  must 
Southampton  and  Frederic  go  away  from  us?  Why 
cannot  we  stay  together — and  work  together?" 

"What  kind  of  work  could  you  engage  in,  Gerry?" 
he  asked  with  a  smile. 

"Well,"  she  answered,  her  face  flushing,  "that  is 
not  a  question  to  be  answered  on  the  spur  of  the 
moment.  Though  I  have  a  voice  and  could  sing  in 
concerts  if  I  were  not  a  Southampton.  And,  but 
for  the  same  excellent  reason,  I  could  dance  in 
public,  to  earn  my  share  of  the  family  bread.  Also," 
throwing  back  her  flowing,  silken  sleeve,  and  look- 
ing with  approval  at  the  round,  firm,  dimpled  arm, 
"I  could  execute  almost  anything  that  required  mus- 
cle. But,"  her  face  became  radiant,  a  practical  idea 
had  flashed  to  the  surface,  "I  can  write  in  your 


UNCLE  PHIL.  23 

office !  I  write  a  better  hand  than  either  South  or 
Fred — you  know  I  do!" 

"Yes,  I  do  know  so,"  he  answered,  and  seeing  the 
pretty  pleading  on  her  face,  he  wished  to  give  her 
a  pleasure.  "Suppose  you  go  now — the  clerks  are 
all  gone — and  write  a  clearance  for  the  schooner 
Andromache  carrying  eight  hundred  tons  burden. 
I  am  going  now  to  meet  an  old  friend  I  am  ex- 
pecting to  arrive,  whom  I  have  not  seen  since  our 
college  days,  when  we  roomed  together.  And  I  be- 
speak for  him  your  good  graces." 

Feeling  the  perfect  satisfaction,  growing  out  of 
being  useful  to  one  she  loved,  like  a  fawn  she  sped 
to  the  apartment  now  closed,  office  hours  being  over. 
The  room  of  itself  was  not  attractive,  desks  and 
stools  its  only  furniture,  but  the  young  lady  was 
never  happier  in  her  life.  The  idea  that  she  was 
about  to  transact  business  was  positively  bewitch- 
ing. She  could  not  keep  her  joy  to  herself,  it  had 
to  be  vocalized.  "Ah !"  she  exclaimed,  exultingly, 
"how  happy  are  those  who  work — hard! — hard! 
every  day  of  their  lives." 

The  divine  edict  pronounced  against  our  first  par- 
ent Adam  when  driven  out  of  that  fair  garden  with 
its  "four  rivers  to  water  every  tree  that  had  been 
planted,  pleasant  to  look  at  and  good  for  fruit,"  has 
been  in  operation  nearly  six  thousand  years.  Some 
have  caviled  at  it.  Others  have  said  it  was  a  bless- 
ing in  disguise,  but  to  Colonel  Southampton's 


24  UNCLE  PHIL. 

daughter  was  reserved  the  privilege  of  being  the 
first  to  sing  a  paean  in  its  praise. 

She  seated  herself  quickly,  pulling  up  to  her  the 
huge  Government  inkstand  with  its  bristling  array 
of  pens.  Then  the  Form  Book  was  opened,  and  in 
the  glory  of  her  enthusiasm  she  determined  to  spare 
no  pains,  and  that  this  particular  document  should 
be  the  most  elaborately  handsome  of  any  that  had 
ever  gone  forth  from  any  Custom  House.  She  would 
execute  with  her  pen  an  American  eagle  with  its 
claws  full  of  arrows  hovering  over  the  top  of  the 
page,  and  illuminate  the  capital  letters  in  red  ink. 
But  one  moment's  reflection  suggested  that,  artistic 
and  unique  as  it  certainly  would  be,  it  would 
be  open  to  the  criticism  of  not  being  plain  business ; 
and  she  promptly  decided  to  do  the  work  in  a  work- 
manlike manner,  even  to  eschew  flourishes. 

In  the  frame  of  mind  when  one's  work  is  always 
best  done,  the  head  and  heart  in  unison,  she  began 
the  paper  by  which  under  the  revenue  laws  of  the 
United  States  the  schooner  Andromache  with  her 
eight  hundred  tons  burden  was  permitted  to  weigh 
anchor  and  vamose  the  harbor.  For  some  moments 
she  wrote  on  industriously,  then  with  pardonable 
pride  she  paused  to  admire  her  handiwork,  which 
was  indeed  admirable.  Not  in  the  least  like  the  in- 
distinct chirography  of  most  fine  ladies,  resembling 
the  aimless  wanderings  of  an  intoxicated  fly;  but 


UNCLE  PHIL.  25 

firm,  well-formed  characters,  beautiful  to  see  and 
beautiful  to  read. 

At  her  back  was  an  open  window,  through  which 
streamed  the  sun's  rays — silent,  potent  rays,  la- 
dened  with  odylic  fluid — passing  back  and  forth, 
over  and  around  her — noiseless,  invisible,  myster- 
ious forces,  actively  weaving  their  wondrous  tissues 
and  indissolubly  uniting  her  life  with  that  of  an- 
other life,  standing  in  the  doorway. 

Henceforth,  for  weal  or  woe,  the  influence  of  these 
two  lives,  one  over  the  other,  is  cemented  indes- 
tructibly, till  death ;  till  the  dark  river  which  rolls 
all  around  the  world  is  passed — perhaps  beyond. 
Under  the  influence  of  this  cosmical  power  the  girl 
trembled,  conscious  that  some  new,  all-powerful 
feeling  was  about  to  possess  her.  She  looked  up. 

A  man,  certainly  older  than  her  father,  had  en- 
tered the  room.  His  rugged  features  were  grave 
even  to  sternness.  Not  a  person  to  incommode,  was 
written  in  legible  characters  from  head  to  foot.  The 
self-confidence  of  his  bearing  denoted  a  man  who 
was  all  and  all  to  his  own  requirements. 

The  diffidence  usual  in  accosting  strangers  of  the 
opposite  sex  was  out  of  the  experience  of  Miss 
Southampton.  Men  of  every  age  and  degree  had 
gone  down  before  her  without  the  least  hesitation, 
without  the  slightest  protest.  But  there  was  some- 
thing disconcerting  in  this  new-comer's  steady 
gaze ;  yet  never  was  a  Southampton  born  to  blench, 


26  UNCLE  PHIL. 

and  she  demanded,  authoritatively :  "Did  you  not 
see  that  the  flag  was  down,  and  that  office  hours 
were  over?" 

"I  am  not  on  official  business,"  said  he,  slightly 
raising  his  hat.  "I  called  to  see  Colonel  South- 
ampton." 

"My  father  is  out,  and  I  cannot  tell  you  where 
you  will  probably  find  him." 

"I  think  I  will  wait  for  him  here,"  replied  the 
gentleman,  taking  a  seat. 

"I  am  writing,"  said  she  sharply. 

"Pray  go  on,"  was  the  answer,  "you  will  not  dis- 
turb me." 

Miss  Southampton  felt  a  new  sensation.  She 
was  accustomed  to  men  losing  their  heads  about 
her — and  was  probably  not  averse  to  it — and  here 
was  an  infidel  bringing  no  flowers  to  her  altar. 
Mutely  she  raised  her  eyes  as  if  to  enquire  why  a 
fragment  of  the  rather  roughly  plastered  ceiling 
did  not  detach  itself  and  fall  down  to  crush  him. 
And  why  she  refrained  from  telling  him  that  he 
was  disturbing  her,  and  request  his  absence,  was 
the  perplexing  question.  She  was  under  the  spell 
of  some  strange,  new,  compelling  influence,  and 
chafed  under  it. 

With  heightened  color,  and  without  a  word,  she 
recommenced  her  writing;  but  the  usually  facile 
pen  became  an  awkward  stick — it  was  impossible 
to  write  with  that  glum  man  looking  on,  and  he 


UNCLE  PHIL.  27 

must  be  got  rid  of.  She  was  wholly  unaccustomed 
to  sue,  and  it  was  with  an  obvious  effort  that  she 
suggested,  persuasively : 

"You  might  smoke  a  cigar  in  the  corridor  while 
waiting." 

"I  do  not  care  to  smoke,  and  will  wait  where  I 
am,"  he  answered  with  decision. 

The  young  lady  was  fairly  frightened.  Imagine 
the  feelings  of  a  commanding  officer  who  makes  the 
discovery  when  face  to  face  with  an  enemy  that  his 
war  material  is  of  bad  quality.  For  one  brief  mo- 
ment she  thinks  of  flight,  then  comes  the  nobler 
reflection  that  she  is  a  Southampton,  and  having 
thrown  a  lance  over  the  enemy's  frontier,  could 
neither  retreat  nor  apologize,  and  if  need  be  must 
die  at  her  post. 

With  what  intense  relief  must  the  general  with 
damaged  powder  have  heard  the  shouts  of  a  support- 
ing army  coming  to  his  assistance.  Just  so  felt 
Miss  Southampton  when  her  quick  ears  caught  the 
sound  of  her  father's  footsteps.  In  a  moment  more 
he  had  entered  the  room. 

With  exclamations  of  delight  the  two  men  clasped 
hands.  Not  since  leaving  William  and  Mary — a 
quarter  of  a  century  had  passed — had  these  college 
chums  met. 

In  the  warmth  of  their  greeting  it  was  some  mo- 
ments before  Colonel  Southampton  recollected  to 
say :  "Ah !  here  is  my  little  daughter." 


28  UNCLE  PHIL. 

Query :  Why  is  it,  no  matter  how  well-grown  a 
girl  may  be,  she  is  invariably  introduced  by  her 
father  after  this  fashion? 

The  introduction  was  acknowledged  by  the  lady 
with  cold  dignity;  by  the  gentleman  without  en- 
thusiasm. 

Miss  Southampton  measurably  recovered  from 
her  loss  of  morale  (she  was  not  of  the  sort  to  stay 
conquered),  and,  ashamed  of  her  involuntary  weak- 
ness, hurriedly,  so  to  speak,  brought  up  her  sup- 
ports, dressed  her  lines,  and,  eager  for  aggressive 
action,  said  curtly : 

"You  have  a  name,  I  suppose?" 

"My  name  is  Smith,"  responded  the  gentleman. 

"John  Smith?"  she  asked  airily. 

"My  Christian  name  is  Paul — if  you  have  any  in- 
terest in  knowing,"  he  answered,  showing  some  an- 
noyance. 

The  skirmishers  had  closed  in,  and  there  was  bat- 
tle in  the  air ;  the  young  lady  clatters  up  her  howit- 
zers. 

"Yes,"  she  said  flippantly,  "I  have  some  interest 
in  a  certain  way — it  is  de  rigueur  to  acquire  gen- 
eral information — and,  of  course,  much  trash  gets 
mixed  in.  Evidently  your  parents  were  Bible  read- 
ers, with  a  penchant  for  scriptural  names,  and  I 
congratulate  you  on  not  being  named  Saul,  or 
Nehemiah,  or  Hosea,  or  Maccabees,  or  some  other  of 
the  gentle  patriarchs,  whose  lives  were  more  or  less 


UNCLE  PHIL.  29 

edifying,  but  whose  names  are  lacking  in  euphony." 

In  all  the  unpleasant  experiences  of  Samson 
following  his  entanglement  with  Delilah  nothing 
touched  him  in  the  tenderest  place  until  he  was 
sent  for  to  make  sport  for  the  Philistine  lords  and 
ladies.  Nothing  like  this  had  ever  happened  to  Mr. 
Smith  before,  and  in  his  righteous  anger  he  was  go- 
ing to  say  that,  in  his  opinion,  she  had  mistaken 
the  situation.  But  Colonel  Southampton,  observing 
with  concern  that  his  daughter  and  his  friend  were 
not  taking  to  each  other,  hastened  to  interpose.  He 
was  of  a  sanguine  nature,  and  hoped  for  better 
things. 

"Come,"  said  he,  "let's  get  into  more  comfortable 
quarters." 

"As  for  myself,  I  have  that  clearance  to  finish," 
said  Miss  Southampton,  with  gravity.  "Besides,  I 
have  no  wish  to  be  the  terrible  third  to  spoil  sport. 
I  know  you  wish  to  be  to  yourselves  to  gloat  over 
old  times,  and  to  recall  the  sweet  remembrance, 
how  pious  you  were,  and  the  good  example  you  set 
to  other  students  whose  inclinations  tended  to  friv- 
olity. I  am  speaking  for  my  papa." 

"Never  mind  the  clearance,  Gerry,"  answered 
Colonel  Southampton,  looking  at  Smith  with  a 
smile.  "One  of  the  clerks  will  finish  it.  I  want  you 
with  us."  So  together  they  proceeded  to  that  part 
of  the  building  where  were  the  apartments  fitted  up 
for  the  family. 


30  UNCLE  PHIL. 


CHAPTER  III. 

N  INFANT  TERRIBLE. 
"He  who  is  not  hammer  is  sure  to  be  anvil." 

It  was  a  cosy  parlor  into  which  they  entered. 
The  lace  curtains  and  the  upright  piano  had  been 
brought  from  Paris,  the  comfortable  bamboo  chairs 
from  China,  the  sofa  and  American  rocking  chairs 
from  Boston,  and  the  nick-nacks  from  Japan  and 
various  other  parts  of  the  globe — all  uniting  to 
form  that  refinement  of  luxury  with  which  those 
who  have  pride  in  pluralizing  their  ancestors  take 
pains  to  surround  themselves. 

The  door  was  left  wide  open  to  enjoy  a  view  of 
the  beautiful  bay;  the  tide  rushing  in  with  a  gentle 
pur  almost  lapped  the  foundations  of  the  wooden 
corridor.  Sometimes  the  heavy  billows  from  the 
offing  thundered  in  with  a  tumultuous  dash,  when 
doors  had  to  be  closed  to  keep  out  the  drenching 
spray. 

Possibly  it  were  better  had  the  doors  been  closed 
now.  A  woman  carrying  a  child  in  her  arms  could 
not  so  unceremoniously  have  entered. 

"Which  of  you  gentlemen  is  Colonel  Southamp- 
ton?" she  asked  with  the  directness  that  denoted 
her  visit  to  be  of  business,  not  compliment. 


UNCLE  PHIL.  31 

With  inextinguishable  politeness,  Colonel  South- 
ampton rose,  bowed,  and  asked  in  what  way  he 
could  be  of  use  to  her. 

"Well,  sir,  you  see,"  she  explained  without  cir- 
cumlocution, "my  husband  he  ain't  well,  he's  been 
puny  ever  since  he  got  that  lance  stuck  into  his 
side  at  San  Pasquale,  and  I  have  just  come  up  on 
the  Sea  Bird  from  San  Luis  Obispo  to  see  Captain 
Baxter  about  getting  pay  for  some  beeves  used  by 
the  California  Battalion.  And  as  I  ain't  so  overly 
strong,  and  that  hill  going  up  to  the  fort  is  kinder 
steepish,  I  would  like  to  leave  my  little  son  here 
until  I  get  back." 

"Certainly,  madam,"  replied  Colonel  Southamp- 
ton with  fictitious  warmth,  and,  being  on  slippery 
ground,  he  struck  out  boldly:  "Certainly,  my 
daughter  wTill  be  delighted  to  entertain  the  little 
fellow,"  he  cast  an  imploring  look  at  Gerry,  who, 
scorning  to  dissemble,  said  promptly: 

"Indeed,  I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  sort"  The  lady's 
statement  was  true  concerning  the  situation  of  the 
fort.  To  reach  it  there  was  a  sharp  acclivity  to  as- 
cend, very  fatiguing,  particularly  to  a  person  car- 
rying a  burden.  Therefore,  though  the  mother  saw 
plainly  that  her  offspring  would  not  be  left  in  ten- 
der hands,  yet  she  was  aware  that  the  laws  of  the 
state  taking  cognizance  of  his  life  and  limbs,  the 
young  lady  would  neither  murder  nor  maim  him. 
So,  deftly  slipping  the  child  into  Colonel  Southamp- 


32  UNCLE  PHIL. 

ton's  arms,  she  walked  away  as  fast  as  she  could 
lay  foot  to  the  ground. 

"Here,  Gerry,"  said  her  father,  coaxingly,  "please 
take  him,  like  a  kind,  dear,  good-hearted  girl." 

"I  shall  not  do  it,"  was  the  undutiful  answer. 

Colonel  Southampton  being  a  man  of  the  world, 
knew  that  the  best  way  out  of  some  situations  was 
immediate  flight,  and  without  more  ado,  he  placed 
the  child  upon  the  floor  and  fled. 

"Such  depravity  is  shocking,"  observed  Miss 
Southampton. 

"Would  it  be  out  of  place  in  me,"  said  Mr.  Paul 
Smith,  "to  inquire  for  whom  your  remark  is  in- 
tended?" 

This  observation  is  unnoticed,  the  young  lady  in- 
tently watching  that  small  specimen  of  humanity 
writhing  on  the  floor,  her  face  faithfully  portraying 
all  the  gradations  of  astonishment,  aversion,  horror 
and  despair. 

The  infant  was  at  first  bewildered  and  quiet,  but 
soon  realizing  his  abandoned  condition,  he  began 
howling  dismally — shriek  after  shriek  pealed 
through  the  room. 

Miss  Southampton  was  greatly  given  to  the  har- 
boring of  fixed  ideas,  but  in  this  wild  uproar  all  re- 
membrance of  the  strained  relations  which  had 
characterized  her  short  acquaintance  with  Mr. 
Smith  was  obliterated  and  forgotten. 

Happily  there  is  no  law  of  Congress  to  compel 


UNCLE  PHIL.  33 

any  one  to  consistency,  or  where  would  any  of  us 
be? 

She  even  felt  drawn  toward  him  as  people  will 
feel  drawn  toward  those  threatened  with  the  in- 
fliction of  a  common  danger — and  she  made  a  mo- 
tion as  if  to  invite  his  assistance  for  their  mutual 
protection.  "This  is  unbearable,"  she  gasped. 

"You  had  better  take  him  up,"  he  counseled. 

"You  are  the  stronger."  There  was  entreaty  in 
her  voice. 

"Yes,  I  am  the  stronger,"  he  assented  in  a  tone 
indicating  non-intervention,  "but  I  have  heard 
there  was  something  soothing  in  a  woman's  touch 
to  young  children." 

"I  am  not  clear  in  my  belief  about  that.  And 
the  proper  thing  to  do  would  be  to  throw  the  crea- 
ture into  the  bay,  but  I  don't  quite  like  the  respon- 
sibility— one  would  never  hear  the  last  of  it.  Some- 
thing must  be  done !  The  whole  town  will  shortly 
be  about  our  ears !  Peace  must  be  had,"  said  Miss 
Southampton  in  staccato-like  phrases,  while  cir- 
cling round  the  baby,  apparently  nerving  herself  for 
some  desperate  mental  and  physical  effort. 

"You  had  better  take  him  up  head-foremost,"  ad- 
vised Mr.  Smith,  with  decision. 

The  advice  seeming  good,  she  made  a  vicious 
grab,  seizing  the  fat  little  body,  and  began  pacing 
the  room  with  rapid  and  unequal  footsteps.  The 
terrific  screams  continued,  subsiding  only  when 


34  UNCLE  PHIL. 

breath  failed.  Peace  had  been  achieved  after  much 
sorrow,  and  with  a  sigh  of  relief  the  young  lady 
rested  her  charge  on  a  table.  Standing  there, 
though  flushed  and  disheveled,  she  was  very  hand- 
some. Mr.  Smith  thought  so,  and  looked  on  admir- 
ingly in  a  disinterested  sort  of  way — when — he  al- 
most doubted  the  evidence  of  his  senses !  With  an 
exclamation  of  anger,  the  young  lady  dealt  a  blow, 
entirely  disproportioned  to  the  child's  tender  age. 
A  blood-curdling  yell  ensued.  "You  have  bitten  me, 
you  miserable  little  wretch !"  cried  Miss  Southamp- 
ton, holding  up  a  finger,  from  which  welled  a  drop 
of  the  crimson  fluid. 

The  child's  mother  had  not  dallied  by  the  way- 
side, but  had  made  such  haste  as  she  could.  Her 
interview  with  Captain  Baxter  had  been  brief,  and 
most  unsatisfactory  about  remuneration  for  the 
beeves  consumed  by  Colonel  Fremont's  men. 

She  was  told  curtly :  "The  California  Battalion 
was  composed  of  volunteers,  and  a  branch  of  the 
service  he  had  nothing  to  do  with."  And  his  man- 
ner was  so  obviously  expressive  that  he  did  not  want 
to  have  anything  to  do  with  it,  and  did  not  intend 
to  have  anything  to  do  with  it,  as  to  cause  her  great 
mental  depression. 

Poor  woman!  and  was  there  no  one  to  tell  her 
that  she  had  as  well  wave  a  red  flag  in  the  face  of 
a  short-horned  dilemma  as  to  go  to  a  West  Pointer 
about  any  volunteer  business?  Her  anguish  of  mind 


UNCLE  PHIL.  35 

was  much  augmented  on  her  return  just  in  time  to 
witness  the  discipline  bestowed  upon  her  infant 
son. 

With  a  wild  rush  she  dashed  in  and  picked  up 
the  baby,  which  had  tumbled  to  the  floor,  howling 
dismally. 

"You  abominable  woman!"  cried  Miss  South- 
ampton, raising  her  voice,her  indignation  excited  by 
a  sense  of  her  personal  wrongs;  "what  are  you  do- 
ing with  that  child,  how  dare  you  bring  him  here?" 

"I  have  a  husband,  madam,"  whimpered  the  wom- 
an irrelevantly. 

"Who  cares  how  many  husbands  you  have?"  re- 
plied Miss  Southampton,  very  much  excited,  and 
quite  unmindful  that  she  was  attacking  the  very 
groundwork  of  the  social  system. 

No  answer  was  made,  the  woman,  carrying  her 
olive  branches,  departed,  weeping  bitterly;  and  no 
doubt  believing  in  her  heart,  as  many  a  one  had 
done  before  her  time,  that  kindness  and  justice  do 
not  lie  in  a  poor  person's  way. 

It  now  occurred  to  Miss  Southampton  that  her 
companion  had  been  remiss  in  his  duty,  and  that 
from  a  safe  position  of  neutrality  he  had  left  her 
to  struggle  alone  through  the  trying  scene,  giving 
her  neither  aid  nor  comfort. 

"Such  conduct  is  atrocious,"  she  said  to  him, 
with  flashing  eyes. 

"Whose  conduct,"  he  asked. 


36  UNCLE  PHIL. 

A  cloud  of  wrath  swept  over  her  face,  and  Mr. 
Paul  Smith  was  left  the  sole  occupant  of  the  room. 

"Rather  a  spirited  young  person,"  he  remarked, 
sotto  voce,  "but  wonderfully  handsome,  and  per- 
haps it  is  fortunate  that  her  ideas  and  my  ideas  do 
not  agree." 


UNCLE  PHIL.  37 


CHAPTER   IV. 

A  MUSSEL  STEW. 

"Beware,  dear  girls,  beware, 
You  had  better  lead  apes — you  know  where, 
Than  ever  fall  in  love." 

The  Arrow  has  shaken  her  white  wings,  and  like 
a  bird  is  gliding  out  of  Bonito  harbor,  carrying  with 
her  the  two  young  Southamptons. 

This  is  the  first  real  grief  of  her  life,  and  Geral- 
dine  Southampton  stands  on  the  pier,  where  she 
had  parted  with  her  brothers  in  all  the  abandon- 
ment of  grief. 

Her  father  is  entreating  her  to  be  comforted.  And 
Uncle  Phil  is  trying  to  dry  his  own  eyes,  while  say- 
ing tremulously:  "B'ar  up,  Miss  Gerry,  b'ar  up, 
honey,  b'ar  up  fer  de  ole  Uncle  PhiPs  sake.  Please, 
chile,  b'ar  up  like  er  good  young  'oman — oh,  Lody ! 
Good  Gracious!  has  I  los'  my  senses?  I  mean, 
honey,  b'ar  up  like  the  Runnel's  darter." 

Mr.  Smith  is  there,  too,  but  does  not  join  in  the 
sympathizing  throng  by  which  Miss  Southampton 
is  surrounded. 

He  has  seen  a  good  deal  of  the  world,  and  has 
no  difficulty  in  making  up  his  mind  that  his  old 
friend's  daughter  is  the  worst  case  of  "spoiled"  that 


38  UNCLE  PHIL. 

ever  came  under  his  observation.  "And  not  a  par- 
ticularly bad  sort,  either,"  was  his  mental  com- 
ment, "if  she  were  not  surrounded  by  such  an  army 
of  imbeciles." 

Miss  Southampton's  violent  grief  subsides,  yield- 
ing to  the  arts  of  her  father.  His  own  distress  is 
as  nothing  if  he  can  console  this  young  creature, 
who  represents  nearly  all  his  world.  "The  boys 
are  gone,  Gerry,"  he  said,  soothingly,  "and  cry- 
ing won't  bring  them  back.  Two  or  three  years  will 
soon  roll  around,  and  then  what  a  joyful  return 
there  will  be.  Meanwhile  you  have  your  old  dad. 
And  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  Gerry,  if  you  do  not 
stop  weeping  this  minute,  you  will  make  me  cry, 
too,  which  will  not  be  a  pleasant  on  dit  to  get  into 
circulation." 

There  really  was  so  much  pathos  in  his  voice  that 
his  daughter  became  alarmed.  A  Southampton 
man  shedding  tears  in  public  would  be  an  indelible 
disgrace !  And  she  hastened  to  say,  as  well  as  she 
could  between  sobs:  "I  a-m  t-r-y-i-n-g  t-o  c-o-n- 
t-r-o-1  m-y  f-e-e-1-i-n-g-s,  p-a-p-a,  a-n-d  I  h-a-v-e  n-o 
d-o-u-b-t  I  s-h-a-1-1  s-u-c-c-e-e-d  p-r-e-s  -e-n-t-1-y." 

Colonel  Southampton  is  much  encouraged. 

"That  is  my  brave  little  girl,"  he  said  in  laudatory 
tones.  "And  now,  Gerry,"  in  tones  still  more  laud- 
atory, "a  party  of  us  are  going  to  the  Point.  I  have 
promised  Smith  a  mussel  stew,  and  won't  you  go 
along  to  make  it  pleasant  for  us?" 


UNCLE  PHIL.  39 

Mr.  Smith's  appearance  does  not  indicate  that 
her  presence  would  add  to  his  pleasure  in  the  least. 

"Papa,"  she  answered,  solemnly,  "I  am  never  go- 
ing to  another  mussel  stew  until  those  boys  re- 
turn." 

"How  will  it  be  about  the  bal  militaire  to-mor- 
row?" he  asked. 

"Papa,"  in  the  same  lachrymose  tone,  "I  am  never 
going  to  a  dance  of  any  sort  until  my  brothers  re- 
turn." 

"Oh !  yes  you  will,  Gerry,"  said  he,  coaxingly ;  "if 
you  desert  us,  all  our  little  gayeties  are  at  an  end." 

Instantly  there  was  a  chorus  of  clamors  that  Miss 
Gerry  would  not  reduce  the  world  to  despair  by 
withdrawing  her  presence  from  its  festivities. 

Miss  Southampton  finally  comes  to  terms,  and 
gives  a  promise  that  she  will  do  violence  to  her 
feelings  of  private  grief  for  the  public  weal. 

Later  on,  when  she  made  her  appearance  at  the 
designated  place,  where  the  mussels  most  do  con- 
gregate, it  was  evident  quite  that  the  joyous  spirit, 
which  had  seemed  part  of  her,  was  still  under  a 
cloud. 

Uncle  Phil  was  there,  too,  busy  to  excess,  looking 
on  and  giving  advice.  It  was  usual  for  him  to  be 
ably  seconded  by  Miss  Gerry,  whose  energy  was 
boundless,  and  never  flagged.  But  to-day  every- 
thing seemed  different;  never  before  had  she  been 
separated  from  her  brothers,  not  even  during  their 


40  UNCLE  PHIL. 

school  days.  There  was  in  town  a  French  priest, 
accomplished  and  learned— indeed,  his  bishop  had 
plainly  told  him  that  too  much  learning  had  made 
him  mad  and  inclined  him  to  unauthorized  views, 
and  as  he  refused  either  to  retract  or  to  hold  his 
tongue,  he  was  forbidden  to  celebrate  the  mass.  De- 
barred this  privilege,  a  priest  seems  singularly  out 
of  place  in  the  world — a  goose  straying  on  a  turn- 
pike is  not  more  helpless.  But  there  is  a  silver  lin- 
ing to  most  clouds,  and  the  priest,  yet  not  a  priest, 
found  support  and  occupation  in  teaching  Colonel 
Southampton's  children;  he  even  taught  Gerry 
music.  And  she  shared  the  lessons  of  her  brothers 
in  the  use  of  firearms,  and  fencing — and  perhaps  to 
the  foils  she  was  somewhat  indebted  for  the  beauty, 
ease  and  firmness  of  her  poses.  Her  brothers,  who 
were  absurdly  fond  and  proud  of  her,  obeyed  all  her 
behests  without  asking  a  question,  believing  that 
all  she  did  was  right  with  a  blind  reliance  that 
nothing  on  earth  could  disturb.  No  wonder  that 
her  heart  was  sore. 

"Papa,"  said  she  plaintively,  "I  believe  I  will  go 
out  on  the  rocks.  Perhaps,  in  some  of  her  tacks,  I 
may  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  Arrow.  You  can  send 
for  me  when  the  luncheon  is  ready.  I  think  I  would 
rather  be  alone." 

The  dozen  athletic  men  to  whom  the  latter  part 
of  her  speech  was  addressed  would,  at  another  time, 
have  been  loud  in  their  protestations  against  ban- 


UNCLE  PHIL.  41 

ishment ;  but  they  saw  that  she  was  very  near  cry- 
ing, and  not  one  of  them  was  willing  to  subject  him- 
self to  the  torture  of  seeing  Miss  Gerry  weep. 

At  this  part  of  the  bay  a  good  many  large  bowl- 
ders extended  far  out,  and  were  sufficiently  near  to- 
gether for  an  agile  person  to  step  from  one  to  an- 
other. And  when  the  tide  was  low,  as  now  it  was, 
it  was  easy  to  reach  a  range  of  rocks  having  consid- 
erable elevation;  Gerry  passed  on  to  the  highest; 
there  she  tiptoed,  and,  putting  her  hands  to  her 
face  to  form  a  sort  of  telescope  in  aid  of  her  vision, 
tried  to  catch  sight  of  the  barque  carrying  two  pas- 
sengers very  dear  to  her. 

But  the  Arrow,  favored  by  a  stiff  breeze,  was 
bounding  her  way  merrily,  far  out  at  sea — no 
glimpse  of  her  could  be  seen,  let  Gerry  strain  her 
eyes  as  she  might.  She  did  not  sigh,  but  with  quick, 
gasping,  sobbing,  hid  out  of  sight  behind  a  minia- 
ture fortress,  where  she  almost  seemed  in  a  world 
of  her  own.  By  degrees  her  sobs  ceased — they  were 
new  acquaintances  and  felt  out  of  place. 

And  she  looked  straight  before  her,  watching  the 
waters  of  the  bay  rush  out  to  mingle  with  the  larger 
waters  of  the  ocean.  How  illimitable  seemed  the 
expanse,  and  how  beautiful.  Under  the  sun's  glow- 
ing rays  the  rippling  waves  glinted  with  the  sheen 
of  polished  glass.  Three  or  four  whales  have  ven- 
tured inside  the  mouth  of  the  harbor,  and  are  lazily 
swimming  and  throwing  up  water  with  the  effec- 


42  UNCLE  PHIL. 

tiveness  of  fountains.  And  how  pure,  sweet  and  ex- 
hilarating is  the  salt  air.  Gerry  drinks  it  in,  and 
feels  the  quick  rebound  as  from  an  intoxicating 
beverage.  How  alluring  seemed  the  bright  waters 
— they  seemed  calling  to  her.  How  she  yearns  to 
lave  in  them.  She  has  not  lived  so  many  years  by 
the  sea  without  knowing  how  to  swim.  "Oh !  why 
haven't  I  got  my  bathing  suit  on?"  she  murmurs, 
oblivious  for  the  moment  that  picnics  and  bath- 
ing suits  do  not  go  hand  in  hand.  "But  I  can  at 
least" — she  fails  to  clothe  her  idea  with  words,  add- 
ing— "that  will  be  something."  And  without  more 
ado,  this  young  lady  who  has  had,  as  yet,  no  school- 
ing in  any  of  the  restraining  influences  adverse  to 
her  wishes,  and  never  hesitated  at  any  time  to  de- 
stroy the  artificial  boundaries  of  common  usages, 
acted  on  the  sudden  whim,  and  soon  the  pellucid 
element  is  rushing  over  and  against  the  nude  feet, 
and  Miss  Southampton  is  entirely  given  over  to 
blissful  sensations.  These  blissful  sensations  term- 
inate abruptly. 

"Miss  Southampton,  your  father  requested  me  to 
inform  yoii  that  the  mussels  are  nearly  ready.  But 
I  see  you  are  not  ready  for  the  mussels,"  commu- 
nicated Mr.  Smith  in  chillingly  cutting  accents. 

She  gave  a  violent  start,  and,  oh !  a  silken  hose 
slipped  from  her  grasp — rested  for  one  moment  on 
the  crest  of  a  wavelet— filled  itself  with  air,  and 
sailed  out  seaward,  her  mournful  gaze  following  it. 


UNCLE  PHIL.  43 

Remorselessly,  unconiiuiseratingly,  Mr.  Smith 
watched  the  disappearance  of  the  erratic  stocking, 
then,  without  the  slightest  attempt  to  conceal  his 
unadmiring  sentiments,  said : 

"I  will  send  Uncle  Phil  to  you.  I  imagine  you 
have  an  errand  for  him.  Meanwhile,  the  mussels 
and  the  company,  I  suppose,  are  to  wait." 

Left  to  herself,  Miss  Southampton  groaned  aloud. 
She  felt  ill,  and  doomed ;  some  horrible  fate  seemed 
impending.  Her  childish  ears  had  drank  in  with 
unquestioned  faith  many  a  tale  told  by  Uncle  Phil 
of  witchcraft — of  people  possessed — of  how  some 
people  were  given  power  to  cast  evil  eyes  on  some 
other  people  and  compel  obedience,  even  were  it  to 
run  up  a  tree  like  a  squirrel,  or  bark  like  a  dog,  or 
mew  like  a  cat. 

And  there  were  still  more  awful  conjurations, 
when  the  eyes  dropped  out,  the  head  turned  gray, 
and  the  tongue  became  palsied. 

Of  course,  with  riper  years,  these  absurdities  were 
disbelieved.  Yet  a  little  leaven  remained,  a  predis- 
position to  superstition.  What  is  superstition? 
There  is  no  rational  way  to  account  for  it;  yet  few 
there  be  who  have  not  felt  its  influence,  willingly 
or  unwillingly.  It  comes,  it  goes,  it  is  tangible,  and 
it  is  intangible,  and  if  firmly  resisted  sneaks  away 
— only  to  reappear  when  least  expected. 

Miss  Gerry's  imagination  was  at  all  times  like 
a  willing  steed,  taking  no  account  of  pace  or  dis- 


44  UNCLE  PHIL. 

tance,  and  no  wonder  that  its  wild  suggestions  of 
the  potentialities  should  amaze  and  affright.  Who 
was  this  Mr.  Smith  so  lately  coming  en  scene?  An 
old  friend  of  her  father,  certainly ;  but  that  friend- 
ship was  long  ago.  And  there  were  well-authenti- 
cated instances  of  men  who  had  so  coveted  power 
over  their  fellow-men  that  they  had  obtained  this 
power  by  concessions  to  evil  spirits.  She  almost 
shrieked  recollecting  how  strangely  his  presence 
had  affected  her.  But  supineness  had  very  little  to 
do  with  her  organization.  Dread  of  what  appeared 
akin  to  the  supernatural  might  occasion  temporary 
weakness,  yet  it  was  constitutional  to  rally  quickly 
and  face  front,  flying  the  signal,  No  surrender. 

It  was  certain  to  her  that  Mr.  Smith  had  been 
allowed  to  go  on  long  enough  with  his  airs  of  su- 
periority, and  that  he  must  be  signally  rebuked,  al- 
though he  appeared  to  be  so  utterly  unassailable, 
and  had  omitted  to  take  in  succinctly  that  she  was 
a  Southampton,  while  he  was  only  a  Smith.  It 
might  be  difficult  to  bring  him  to  his  bearings ;  yet 
it  must  be  done,  and  without  loss  of  time.  Her 
smooth  brow  corrugates  in  deep  thought,  awaiting 
the  inspiration. 

"Some  women  have  hated  me;    other  women  have  loved  me; 
But  she,  who  has  most  wounded  me 
Has  neither  loved  nor  hated  me." 

There  it  was  in  a  hand's  grasp.  She  would  treat 
him  with  the  perfect  indifference  that  would  irri- 


UNCLE  PHIL.  45 

tate  a  tortoise.  She  would  even  feign  to  forget  his 
name. 

The  most  aggressive  of  sovereigns  is  rendered 
peaceable  by  an  empty  military  chest,  but  when  it 
is  filled  by  an  unexpected  beneficence,  he  will  rush 
into  war  and  unadvisedly  force  an  engagement  with 
a  flying  foe  for  whom  he  should  have  built  a  bridge 
of  gold. 

With  the  package,  which  Uncle  Phil  had  been  dis- 
patched to  bring  his  young  lady,  he  brought  a  news- 
paper for  the  gentlemen,  and  one  was  reading  aloud 
to  the  others  when  Gerry  rejoined  them. 

Immediately  there  was  an  uprising  to  do  her 
honor.  Ten  thousand  thanks  are  showered  upon 
her  for  gracing  this  festive  occasion  with  her  pres- 
ence. If  Mr.  Smith  looked  at  her  at  all,  it  was  in 
such  a  modest,  unostentatious  manner  as  to  escape 
detection. 

"Miss  Gerry,"  said  the  reader,  "I  have  just 
finished  an  account  of  some  serious  skirmishes  be- 
tween our  troops  and  the  Indians.  Shall  I  repeat  it 
for  your  behoof?" 

"Not  for  worlds,"  was  the  decisive  answer. 

"Well,  as  the  Queen  wills;  but  here  is  a  bit  of 
news  that  will  interest  you :  Lieutenant  Wood  has 
been  brevetted  captain  for  conspicuous  bravery, 
and  favored  with  a  furlough.  Perhaps  he  will  ar- 
rive in  time  for  our  ball  to-morrow." 

Hiss  Southampton  was  very  demonstrative,  clap- 


46  UNCLE  PHIL. 

ping  her  hands  in  her  joy.  Her  father,  glancing  at 
her  with  approval  and  sympathy,  said :  "I  always 
knew  there  was  something  in  that  boy.  His  father 
and  grandfather  fought  at  Guildford." 

In  the  prosperous  days  of  yore  Colonel  South- 
ampton's plantation  in  the  Valley  of  Virginia,  ad- 
joined that  of  Major  Wood,  the  fatter  of  the  young 
officer  upon  whom  had  been  conferred  the  title,  but 
not  the  emolument  of  a  centurian ;  and  the  most  cor- 
dial friendship  existed  between  the  families.  There- 
fore, when  a  portion  of  the  army  to  which  Lieuten- 
ant Wood  belonged  was  quartered  at  Bonito,  Colo- 
nel Southampton  received  him  almost  as  a  son.  And 
Gerry,  too,  as  readily  adopted  him,  so  to  speak,  and 
treated  him  much  the  same  as  she  did  her  brothers ; 
to  the  young  gentleman's  infinite  discontent.  A 
very  young  man  is  never  so  much  annoyed  as  when 
placed  in  this  position.  To  an  elderly  man  it  is 
very  enjoyable;  the  alternate  petting  and  scolding 
— being  made  much  of,  and  candidly  depreciated  by 
a  charming  young  girl. 

It  was  only  a  matter  of  a  few  months  which  had 
passed  since  when  his  troop  was  ordered  away  to 
fight  hostile  Indians  that  Lieutenant  Wood  called 
to  bid  Miss  Southampton  farewell.  And  to  save  his 
life  he  could  not  feel  grateful  for  her  friendly 
adieux,  and  a  deal  of  excellent  advice  about  wear- 
ing flannel  and  generally  taking  care  of  his  health. 

"And,  Charley,"  she  added,  "of  course  I  wish  you 


UNCLE  PHIL.  47 

to  fight  bravely,  but  don't  be  rash.  It  would  be  a 
great  affliction  to  me  should  anything  serious  hap- 
pen to  you." 

Lack-a-day!  It  was  honest,  passionate  love  on 
one  side,  and  honest,  pure  friendship  on  the  other. 

At  this  juncture,  Uncle  Phil,  hat  in  hand,  with 
solemn  politeness,  expressed  the  pleasure  it  gives 
him  "ter  denounce  ter  de  Kunnel,  Miss  Gerry,  an' 
de  oder  gemplemen,  dat  de  mussels  wus  about  ter  be 
sarved.'* 

A  table-cloth  had  been  spread  on  the  well-cleaned 
grass,  and  placed  on  it  were  delicacies  from  various 
climes.  Also  bottles  of  the  different  shapes  that  in- 
dicated the  different  character  of  the  vintage  con- 
tained, and  glasses,  of  the  regulation  size,  for  drink- 
ing the  same  were  gathered  too  close  together  to 
suit  the  views  of  a  teetotaler.  But  the  waters  of 
that  otherwise  highly  favored  country,  were  brack- 
ish, and  not  adpopulum  as  a  beverage. 

To  return  to  Miss  Southampton  and  her  viva- 
cious hand-clapping.  "Oh,  I  am  so  joyful !"  she  ex- 
claimed. "I  feel  in  the  humor  to  dance  a  horn- 
pipe on  the  festive  board,  represented  by  a  cloth." 

"Oh,  Miss  Gerry !  we  humbly  implore  you  to  wait 
until  our  appetites  are  appeased,"  cried  the  hungry 
gentlemen. 

The  tendency  of  that  beatific  climate  produces 
what  is  called  being  "sharp  set,"  and  the  gentle- 
men were  hastening  to  assume  the  various  attitudes 


4:8  UNCLE  PHIL. 

that  go  to  show  how  the  human  form  divine  can  be 
crumpled  to  suit  the  exigencies  of  the  occasion, 
when  they  were  imperatively  stopped  by  Miss 
Southampton,  with  the  order  to  "fill  glasses  and 
drink  standing,  in  honor  of  Brevet  Captain  Charles 
Wood." 

This  was  done  with  ultra  promptness ;  but  it  was 
not  enough  to  satisfy  the  young  lady.  "Break 
glasses!"  she  cried,  smashing  hers. 

For  about  a  half-second  the  breaking  of  wine- 
glasses was  in  order.  Mr.  Smith  only  placing  his 
carefully  down,  declaring  such  wanton  destruction 
clear  against  his  habits.  And,  furthermore,  he  con- 
fessed himself  unable  to  see  in  what  way  the  gallant 
young  officer's  health  and  prospects  could  be  ad- 
vanced by  such  a  sacrifice  of  drinking  vessels. 

Miss  Gerry  darted  a  furious  look  at  him,  not- 
withstanding she  had,  as  we  know,  resolved  to  let 
him  die  the  chilling  death  of  being  left  alone.  But 
this  Fabian  policy  was  too  much  for  her  impatient 
nature. 

"Doubtless,"  she  exclaimed  hotly,  "the  habit  of 
economy  is  one  of  the  lofty  virtues — but  don't  you 
think  it  can  be  carried  to  excess,  Mr.  — er — er — 
Jones?" 

"Smith  is  my  name,"  he  answered  deliberately, 
"and  prudent  economy  is  not  excessive,  Miss — er — 
er — what  is  your  name,  anyhow?" 

If  Mr.  Smith  intended  this  remark  as  his  contri- 


UNCLE  PHIL.  49 

bution  to  improve  the  hilarity  of  the  company,  it 
was  a  conspicuous  failure. 

Miss  Southampton's  friends  were  all  thorough- 
paced partisans,  and  turned  frowning  brows  toward 
that  gentleman,  and  only  the  knowledge  that  he 
was  the  guest  of  Colonel  Southampton  saved  him 
from  being  torn  to  pieces,  limb  from  limb. 

Colonel  Southampton's  face  clouded — it  troubled 
him  that  his  friend  and  his  daughter  should  be  at 
outs.  And  there  would  have  been  an  awkward 
pause  had  not  the  quick-witted  lady,  with  her 
gracious  womanhood,  repaired  the  breach  she  had 
made — and  without  making  the  least  concession,  or 
giving  up  an  inch  of  ground.  She  slightly  inclined 
her  head,  and  with  high-bred  courtesy  hastened  to 
say:  "I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Smith,  for  a  mo- 
mentary forgetfulness  of  the  consideration  due  to 
my  father's  guest.  But  my  natural  brusqueness, 
which  is  of  course  reprehensible,  meets  writh  so 
much  general  indulgence  that  I  do  not  improve." 

Having  said  this  much  for  the  credit  of  her  fatn- 
er's  house,  she  felt  privileged  to  add  with  the  osten- 
tatious, tender  regret  which  might  have  vexed  the 
righteous  soul  of  a  saint :  "Not  knowing  Captain 
Wood,  you  cannot  form  an  idea  of  the  many  high 
virtues  and  attributes  that  cluster  around  his  hon- 
ored name,  and  a  name  so  dear  to  us,  therefore  you 
declined  the  immolation  of  an  empty  wine-glass. 


50  UNCLE  PHIL. 

But  we  bear  you  no  ill  will.  You  are  freely  and 
fully  forgiven." 

Some  of  the  company  felt  very  ill  afterward  in 
consequence  of  their  efforts  to  repress  smiles.  The 
object  of  the  attack  alone  remained  unmoved — the 
barb  had  been  well-aimed,  and  hit  squarely,  but  fell 
harmless.  Gerry  looked  at  him  curiously,  and  by 
some  anomaly,  felt  inclined  toward  him.  "There 
is  not  another  man  alive,"  she  thought,  "whose  eyes 
could  meet  mine  so  unflinchingly,"  and  from  that 
hour  she  could  not  disguise  from  herself  that  his  in- 
fluence strengthened  over  her  daily.  It  was  the  in- 
herent admiration  a  mercurial  temperament  often 
has  for  a  hard,  reticent  nature,  so  exactly  its  antith- 
esis. But  she  had  no  idea  of  laying  down  her 
arms.  The  Southamptons  had  always  been  a  proud 
people;  and  she  had  her  full  share  of  that  deadly 
sin  which  brought  ruin  on  the  highest  of  the  angels 
and  eternal  punishment  on  the  Son  of  the  Morn- 
ing. 

She  seated  herself  remotely  as  possible  from  the 
quiet,  silent  man.  Just  then  Uncle  Phil  approached 
her  and  with  a  beaming  face  whispered  something 
in  her  ear.  Merely  taking  time  to  say  "dispensa 
me,"  she  sprang  up,  and  was  whisked  away — only 
a  few  paces — followed  by  every  eye.  A  covered  bas- 
ket was  opened,  and  the  two  heads  bent  over,  view- 
ing its  contents  with  immense  delight,  and  exchang- 
ing a  few  rapid  sentences, 


UNCLE  PHIL.  51 

The  curiosity  of  the  uninitiated  rises  rampant, 
and  they  cry : 

"What  is  it,  Miss  Gerry?  Won't  you  let  us  into 
the  agreeable  secret,  too?" 

"It  is  not  a  secret,"  she  answered  triumphantly, 
"Uncle  Phil  says  it  is  a  'tecky.'  And  you  shall  see 
him ;  and  you  shall  eat  him." 

"A  turkey!"  was  the  surprised  exclamations. 
"Did  it  fall  from  the  clouds?" 

With  flourish  of  (trumpets,  as  it  were,  Miss 
Southampton  and  Uncle  Phil  together  place  the 
dish  containing  the  rare  fowl  in  front  of  Colonel 
Southampton. 

"Stop,  papa,"  cried  Miss  Gerry,  as  the  carving 
knife  was  deftly  raised.  "Don't  touch  him  yet — 
let  us  admire.  You  must  all  pardon  my  enthusiasm, 
I  never  saw  a  'tecky'  before.  Uncle  Phil  says  I  did 
in  Virginia.  But  the  sweetest  memories  fade,  and 
I  cannot  recall  an  acquaintance  with  this  species 
of  the  winged  tribe.  Hitherto  gallinas  only  and  I 
have  known  each  other,  and  you  must  bear  with  my 
exultation." 

"But  where  did  it  come  from?"  persisted  the  gen- 
tlemen. 

"Do  you  think  it  quite  good  manners,"  retorted 
the  young  lady,  "to  be  so  morbidly  curious  about 
his  history.  Possibly — probably,  there  may  be  biz- 
arre circumstances  in  connection  with  it.  But  he 
came  to  us  in  a  purely  commercial  way.  Uncle  Phil 


52  UNCLE  PHIL. 

purchased  him  from  a  mucharcho,  who  called  upon 
every  saint  in  the  calendar  to  witness  that  he  came 
by  him  honestly — but  that  is  with  his  conscience! 
The  sum  paid  was  sixteen  dollars.  A  mere  noth- 
ing when  compared  with  the  cost  of  some  dainties 
the  old  Komans  provided  for  their  guests — just 
think  of  the  shield  of  Minerva  costing  seventy-two 
thousand  dollars.  How  thankful  we  ought  to  feel, 
papa,  that  we  did  not  live  in  those  expensive  days. 
Now,  cut,  and  spare  not ;  only  divide  fair." 

Presently  there  began  a  decorous  clatter  of 
knives  and  forks,  and  a  good  deal  of  merriment,  the 
principal  instigator  being  Miss  Southampton.  She 
was  perhaps  all  the  more  brilliant  and  exigent  be- 
cause of  the  glances  of  grave  surprise  directed  at 
intervals  toward  her  from  Mr.  Smith,  who  inwardly 
wondered  that  this  could  be  the  same  young  per- 
son whom  a  few  hours  only  had  elapsed  since  he 
— with  his  own  eyes,  which  he  never  distrusted — 
had  beheld  in  a  tumult  of  grief.  He  condemned 
such  frivolity  utterly.  Besides,  he  did  not  wholly 
approve  the  way  she  grasped  the  reins  of  conversa- 
tion, nor  of  the  dexterous  manner  in  which  she 
handled  them.  Neither  did  he  sympathize  in  the  un- 
affected delight  manifested  by  the  "arrant  num- 
skulls" (Mr.  Smith's  estimate  of  the  intellectual 
attainments  of  those  high  public  officers  was  er- 
roneous) ;  they  were  simply  enjoying  a  war  of  wits 
with  a  bright  young  girl,  who  could  stand  up  square 


UNCLE  PHIL.  53 

and  hit  out  straight.     Suddenly  she  exclaimed: 
"Oh,  papa !  there  is  going  to  be  a  storm !" 

Engrossed  in  their  mirth,  no  one  had  noticed  the 
rapid  change  in  the  atmospheric  conditions,  and 
that  a  storm  was  almost  upon  them.  The  "mare's 
tails"  were  tossing  wildly  against  the  sky-line  and 
the  scurrying  clouds  of  dark  indigo-blue  just  edged 
with  copper  were  quickly  massing.  A  rain-drop 
fell  with  a  splash  against  the  white  cloth,  making 
a  damp  circle.  Others  began  to  patter.  Miss 
Gerry  started  up,  though  by  no  means  afraid  of  a 
shower,  and  said  laughingly:  "There  is  no  time 
for  grace  after  meat,  and  Major  Henley  (to  a  stal- 
wart infantryman  at  her  side),  I'll  run  you  to  the 
Custom  House  for  a  gold  quarter."  And,  nothing 
loth,  he  set  out  with  her  at  a  clipping  pace.  The 
others  followed  such  a  felicitous  lead.  Only  Colo- 
nel Southampton  stayed  behind  with  Mr.  Smith  to 
come  on  more  leisurely — he  would  have  preferred 
keeping  company  with  the  youngsters. 


PHIL. 


CHAPTER  V. 


"You'll  find  it  will  be  best 

To  meet  with  smiles  the  pleasant  glance, 
And  think  all  friends  are  true, 
And  never  trouble  trouble  till  trouble  troubles  you." 

On  the  morning  after  the  mussel  stew  Mr.  Paul 
Smith's  slumbers  are  put  to  flight  by  sounds  of  mer- 
riment. He  could  not  recollect  that  such  a  thing 
had  ever  happened  to  him  before. 

"That  irrepressible  girl,  of  course,"  he  murmurs. 
But,  curious  to  ascertain  "what  she  was  up  to"  so 
early  in  the  morning,  he  rises  and  withdraws  a 
moiety  of  the  curtain  that  hangs  over  the  glass 
door  that  looks  out  on  the  bay — twenty  paces  dis- 
tant— and  where  its  headline  begins  its  beautiful 
sweep  against  a  sandy  beach.  Since  yesterday  the 
appearance  of  the  bay  has  undergone  a  change.  In 
the  night  shoals  of  sardines  have  crowded  in,  and 
the  waters  are  thick  with  them.  And  standing 
there  he  sees  a  sight  not  intended  for  his  eyes. 

A  most  hilarious  couple  are  out  in  the  waters 
almost  up  to  their  knees,  Miss  Southampton  and 
Uncle  Phil,  who,  with  his  bare  feet,  and  his  trous- 
ers rolled  up,  seems  thoroughly  equipped  for  the 


UNCLE  PHIL.  55 

work.  With  a  net  attached  to  a  short  pole  he  is 
scooping  up  the  small  fry  with  all  the  dexterity  and 
enjoyment  of  a  born  fisherman,  and  emptying  his 
catch  into  a  creel  hanging  on  his  arm.  Miss  Gerry, 
who  is  scarcely  less  well  prepared,  is  bareheaded — 
her  flannel  gown  securely  tucked  up,  and  her  feet 
thrust  into  a  pair  of  her  father's  boots.  She  is 
springing  from  place  to  place,  diving  her  hands 
among  the  shining,  wriggling,  twisting  slippery 
creatures;  occasionally  she  seizes  one,  and  despite 
its  struggles  pops  it  into  Uncle  PhiPs  creel  with  a 
shout.  "Look  out,  Miss  Gerry,  chile!"  he  cau- 
tioned, "be  keerful !  ef  y'u  steps  onto  one  ob  dese 
warmints  down  y'u'll  go  kerwollop."  Mentioning 
such  catastrophe  seems  to  bring  it  on.  Down  goes 
the  young  lady  over  head  and  ears. 

"Now  for  a  bit  of  vehement  scolding,"  thought 
that  middle-aged  gentleman,  looking  on.  On  the 
contrary,  she  rises  quickly,  and  shaking  her  head  to 
get  the  salt  water  out  of  her  eyes,  bursts  into  a  peal 
of  laughter  clear  and  sweet  as  silver  chimes.  In- 
voluntarily Mr.  Smith's  lips  part  in  a  smile,  as  he 
said :  "Well,  she  does  possess  uncommon  apprecia- 
tion of  the  humorous,"  and  he  watches  the  incon- 
gruous but  congenial  pair  with  unabated  interest 
until  the  filling  of  the  creel  stops  their  labor. 

"Come,  Miss  Gerry,  chile,  dese  is  plenty.  Les 
go  in,"  said  Uncle  Phil. 

"Let  me  help  you  carry  the  basket,"  said  she,  and 


56  UNCLE  PHIL. 

with  it  between  them  they  pass  under  the  shadows 
of  the  corridor. 

Mr.  Smith  went  back  to  his  bed,  but  not  to  resume 
his  interrupted  slumbers.  The  flashing  brown  eyes 
seem  to  pursue  him  with  their  merriment.  And  he 
feels  forced  to  admit  that  it  is  no  matter  for  sur- 
prise that  his  old  friend's  daughter  draws  all  hearts 
to  her,  like  steel-filings  to  a  magnet.  "She  is  of  the 
same  sort  as  that  hooked-nose  fellow  from  Rome 
with  his  veni,  vide,  vici.  I  must  be  wary.  I  am  past 
the  age  for  such  folly." 

Some  hours  later  Mr.  Smith  descends  to  the  cor- 
ridor to  "take  a  little  turn  before  breakfast"  (he  has 
had  his  cup  of  coffee  and  a  roll  in  his  bedroom) ; 
his  constitutional  is  cut  short ;  he  stops  to  listen  to 
piano  chords,  struck  by  a  masterly  hand,  followed 
by  a  gush  of  melody.  Gerry  is  singing  an  old  song 
he  has  not  heard  since  he  was  a  boy.  Entranced,  he 
listened  where  he  stood — he  felt  averse  to  going  in 
among  the  "usual  crowd  of  idiots."  The  "idiots" 
were  not  there,  she  was  singing  to  her  father  only, 
and  presently  they  came  out  together.  "Come, 
Smith,"  said  Colonel  Southampton,  "let's  have 
breakfast.  Every  morning  for  an  appetizer,  instead 
of  absinthe,  Gerry  sings  me  an  old-time  ballad." 

Costumed  correctly,  Colonel  Southampton  and 
Mr.  Smith  are  waiting  in  the  parlor  for  the  incom- 
ing of  Miss  Southampton,  who  presently  makes  her 


UNCLE  PHIL.  57 

appearance  bewilderingly  dazzling  in  her  evening 
toilet. 

She  is  neither  blonde  nor  brunette,  but  of  the 
happy  type  that  can  wear  all  colors.  She  is  now 
clad  in  a  gown  of  heavy,  blue  silk,  and  its  rich  folds 
fall  easily  into  classic  outlines,  draping  with  mar- 
velous effect  her  elastic,  graceful  figure.  Rows  of 
great  pearls  encircle  her  beautiful  arms  and  neck. 

"Why,  Gerry!"  exclaimed  her  father,  "you  are 
positively  bewitching.  She  looks  like  a  Greek  god- 
dess, don't  she,  Smith?" 

"I  never  saw  a  Greek  goddess,"  answered  Mr. 
Smith ;  "but  to  a  plain  man,  such  as  I,  a  woman  al- 
ways looks  best  when  she's  got  clothes  on  all  over 
her." 

The  so-called  Greek  goddess  gives  him  a  look  of 
imperial  disdain,  and  Colonel  Southampton  lost  no 
time  in  saying :  "You  are  out  of  order,  Smith ;  the 
evening  toilets  of  ladies  are  not  subject  to  private 
interpretation.  The  mandates  of  that  inexorable 
dame,  Fashion,  are  not  to  be  evaded,  and  I  would 
not  like  to  see  my  Gerry  render  herself  remarkable 
by  wearing  a  bib.  But  to  her  less  favored  sisters — 
who  really  wrould  appear  to  advantage  with  clothes 
on  all  over  them — Fashion's  mandates  are  tyran- 
nous. But  come,"  he  continued,  placing  his  daugh- 
ter's wraps  carefully  about  her,  "we  had  better  go. 
They  have  a  way  of  detaining  things,  waiting  for 
my  Gerry."  With  his  daughter  on  his  arm  he 


58  UNCLE  PHIL. 

passed  out  of  the  door  and  nearly  collided  with  a 
person  in  the  corridor.  "Ah !  Mr.  Hamilton !  Good 
evening.  Are  you  bound  for  the  ball?" 

"No,"  was  the  answer,  "I  have  come  to  pass  the 
evening  with  Mrs.  Southampton — reading  to  her." 

"Come  on,  papa,"  said  Miss  Gerry.  "Don't  stand 
here  talking  all  night." 

The  marked  aversion  in  her  tone  caused  Mr. 
Smith  to  ask  after  they  had  gone  by:  "Who  is 
that?" 

"Well,  Hamilton  is  his  name.  I  really  don't 
know  much  about  him ;  but  Mrs.  Southampton  has 
taken  an  invalid's  fancy  to  him — I  scarcely  under- 
stand why.  He  strikes  me  as  being  a  young  fellow 
with  very  little  to  recommend  him.  I  suppose,  how- 
ever, that  while  he  will  never  be  of  much  benefit  to 
himself  he  will  never  be  of  much  harm  to  any  one 
else.  Such  men  never  disturb  the  peace  of  the 
world." 

The  drive  was  so  short  that  when  the  vehicle — 
which  was  an  army  ambulance — stopped  in  front 
of  the  illuminated  Town  Hall  Mr.  Smith  remarked : 
"We  had  just  as  well  have  walked." 

Colonel  Southampton  laughed. 

"Certainly  we  had  just  as  well  have  walked,  only 
there  were  Gerry's  satin  boots  to  be  considered,  as 
you  would  have  known  yourself  were  you  a  father." 

"Which  I  am  not,"  answered  Mr.  Smith  testily. 

It  did  seem  as  if  the  arrival  of  Miss  Southampton 


UNCLE  PHIL.  59 

was  of  importance,  so  great  a  crowd  of  officers  had 
gathered — all  emulous  to  assist  in  her  descent. 

"Gerry,"  said  her  father  to  her,  in  admonitory 
tones,  "you  are  forgetting  something." 

Miss  Southampton  does  not  seem  particularly 
pleased  at  this  recall  to  duty.  But  at  once  she 
turns  to  Smith,  sitting  by  her  side,  and  says :  "What 
dance  shall  I  save  for  you?" 

"I  do  not  dance,"  was  the  answer. 

The  "will"  and  the  "won't"  are  sometimes  so 
closely  allied  in  the  female  breast  as  scarcely  to  be 
separable,  hence  the  answer: 

"You  can  promenade,  I  suppose,  not  being 
lame." 

"No,  I  am  not  lame,"  was  the  composed  reply, 
"and  I  can  promenade  with  you." 

"How  charmed  I  shall  be,"  said  Gerry,  with  a 
light  laugh.  And  giving  a  hand  to  each  of  the  two 
nearest  gallants,  she  springs  to  the  carpeted  side- 
walk, and  enters  the  open  portal,  draped  with  an 
American  flag. 

A  "private"  without  and  a  "private"  within  are 
on  duty;  not  warlike  for  the  nonce,  only  for  the 
military  effect. 

Colonel  Southampton  and  Mr.  Smith  followed 
just  in  time  to  see  Miss  Southampton  disappearing 
through  another  flag  environed  doorway,  by  which 
stands  another  "private"  guarding  the  sacred  pre- 
cincts of  the  ladies'  wraps.  These  two  gentlemen 


60  UNCLE  PHIL. 

are  taken  in  charge  by  another  "private"  and  con- 
ducted to  the  cloak  room,  from  which  they  emerge 
very  soon,  Colonel  Southampton  saying : 

"We  will  gather  up  Gerry  and  go  to  the  ball 
room,  which  is  up  stairs.  The  supper  room  is  down 
here." 

The  gathering  up  process  is  not  difficult,  as  quite 
near  to  them  they  hear  a  tinkling  laugh. 

"That's  Gerry,"  said  her  father,  piloted  by  the 
sound,  which  leads  them  to  where  she  is  standing 
by  the  door  of  the  supper  room,  surrounded  by  a 
bevy  of  epaulet-wearers,  one  of  whom  is  pouring 
Veuve  Cliquot  into  a  tumbler  she  holds  in  her  hand, 
of  the  kind  called  "half-bottle." 

A  grave  surprise  was  stationary  on  the  counten- 
ance of  Mr.  Smith  as  he  stood  counting  the  tum- 
blers of  wine,  one,  two,  three,  which  went  down  the 
young  lady's  throat. 

"Gerry  is  very  prudently  fortifying  herself 
against  catching  cold,"  nonchalantly  remarked  her 
father. 

Mr.  Smith  made  no  audible  reply;  his  thoughts 
being  best  kept  to  himself. 

With  a  slight  inclination  of  the  head  to  her  ad- 
mirers, like  a  queen  dismissing  courtiers,  Miss 
Gerry  comes  forward.  Her  right  hand  is  given 
to  her  father,  and  the  other  she  lays  lightly  on  the 
arm  of  Smith.  Thus  doubly  escorted  she  enters 


UNCLE  PHIL.  61 

the  gala  room.    At  that  moment  the  music  from  at 
least  two  dozen  instruments  crashes  forth. 

"See  what  it  is,  Smith,"  said  Colonel  Southamp- 
ton, "to  possess  a  handsome  daughter.  One  comes 
in  for  part  of  the  honors.  And  as  you  do  not  dance, 
you  had  better  procure  a  seat  at  once,  while  you 
may.  Gerry  will  come  after  you  to  give  you  your 
promenade,  which  otherwise  you  might  miss,  not 
being  conversant  with  the  how  and  when." 

Left  to  his  own  devices  and  the  doubtful  joy  of 
"looking  on,"  Mr.  Smith  surveyed  the  animated 
scene  with  dispassionate  interest.  Everyone  looked 
happy;  he  alone  appeared  to  have  been  brought 
there  willy-nilly.  He  was  anything  but  a  shy  man ; 
diffidence  had  never  seemed  to  him  a  desirable  qual- 
ity. Yet  he  observed  Miss  Southampton  with  sur- 
prise bordering  on  wonderment  that  so  young  a  girl 
in  so  large  an  assembly  should  be  so  self-possessed. 

The  ball  room  seemed  her  natural  element.  It 
was  easy  to  see  that  the  brilliancy  of  this  occasion 
was  due  to  her  joyous  animation.  In  the  waltz  and 
the  quadrille  her  presence  seemed  to  bring  bright- 
ness, and  especially  in  the  contradanza,  when  the 
entire  sala  was  filled  with  wildering  fours,  she 
glided  in  and  out  like  a  sunbeam,  with  smiles  and 
pleasant  words  for  all.  He  could  now  see  that  she 
was  one  of  those  rarely  gifted  beings  who  cannot 
look  or  speak,  or  stir,  without  waking  up  and  satis- 
fying some  vague  longing  which  had  lain  dormant, 


62  UNCLE  PHIL. 

Still,  there  was  no  denying  that  behind  all  her 
bonne-camaraderie  there  was  a  haughty  self-reli- 
ance. And  the  claims  of  heredity  appealed  to  him 
as  never  before — that  of  all  ineffaceable  things 
there  was  nothing  that  defied  obliteration  like  the 
traces  of  race. 

Sitting  there,  all  alone,  he  was  conscious  of  a  re- 
gret that  he,  too,  could  not  dance — it  seemed  such 
a  pleasant  pastime.  There  was  Colonel  Southamp- 
ton, her  father,  and  a  younger  man  than  himself2 
bobbing  about  with  the  friskiest. 

He  had  very  little  knowledge  of  music,  yet  his 
ear  detected  a  change  in  the  measure  when  the  band 
struck  up  the  "March  of  the  Silver  Trumpets."  Al- 
most simultaneously  Miss  Southampton  came  to 
him  and  said :  "This  is  our  promenade,  Mr.  Smith 
— unless  you  have  changed  your  mind,"  she  added 
with  a  bright  smile. 

The  spell  under  which  she  had  erstwhile  chafed 
lifted  and  changed — it  was  now  Mr.  Smith  who 
was  at  the  disadvantage;  but  he  pulled  himself  to- 
gether to  promulgate  an  appropriate  answer.  His 
effort  was  not  happy,  and  on  another  occasion 
would  have  provoked  a  withering  retort. 

"Certainly  I  will  promenade  with  you.  Anything 
to  please  the  chil — I  beg  pardon — I  mean  the 
ladies." 

"No  offence/'  is  the  smiling  answer.    "It  has  been 


UNCLE  PHIL.  63 

said  that  all  people  are  children  of  differentiated 
growth." 

Anything  of  chit-chat  was  very  foreign  to  Mr. 
Smith's  habitude;  yet  he  soon  found  himself  be- 
guiled into  the  gayest  of  light  conversation.  Of 
course,  she  forced  the  running,  and  skilfully  car- 
ried him  along  at  a  pace  he  never  would  have 
dreamed  of.  With  her  small  hand  resting  on  his 
arm,  he  meandered  quite  joyously  through  the  im- 
mense sala,  beautiful  in  its  adornments  of  pine 
boughs  and  bunting.  The  good  taste  of  the  officers 
who  superintended  the  decorations  had  mingled  the 
Mexican  colors  with  the  Stars  and  Stripes.  The 
French  Tricouleur  also  had  a  place  in  compliment 
to  the  newly  arrived  French  consul  and  his  daugh- 
ter. 

It  was  a  surprising  circumstance,  surprising  no 
one  more  than  himself,  that  Mr.  Smith,  beginning 
to  feel  himself  a  part  of  what  he  saw,  should  soon 
drift  into  the  "We  won't  go  home  till  morning"  sen- 
sation, always  provided  that  his  present  partner 
would  promenade  with  him  "till  daylight  doth  ap- 
pear." 

He  was  relating  to  her  ( his  meaning  was  to  flat- 
ter, and  he  hoped  it  was  not  laid  on  with  a  trowel ) 
that  her  father  had  been  called  the  handsomest 
man  in  Virginia — and  she  was  very  like  him.  An 
interruption  occurred,  Miss  Gerry  suddenly  ex- 
claiming, "Oh!  there's  Charley,"  darted  away  to 


64  UNCLE  PHIL. 

meet  a  tall,  fair-haired,  young  man  just  coming  into 
the  room.  Mr.  Smith  is  filled  with  rage,  and 
growls,  "Damn  Charley."  Somehow  he  gets  into  a 
seat,  keeping  his  eyes  fixed  on  his  late  partner  and 
the  new-comer  she  is  so  pleased  to  see. 

The  young  man's  eyes  glisten,  and  the  tell-tale 
flush  of  love  spreads  over  his  face  as  he  grasps  the 
young  lady's  extended  hand.  Her  face  expresses 
an  open,  undisguised,  unerotic,  affectionate  inter- 
est, which  deceived  no  one,  not  even  the  object  of 
it,  only  excepting  one  elderly  gentleman.  Even  he 
would  have  been  quickly  set  to  right  had  he  heard 
their  conversation ;  but,  alas !  they  were  too  far  off 
— the  acoustics  of  a  ball  room  are  not  what  they 
should  be — and  he  could  only  watch  them  with  an 
unquiet  heart,  mentally  telling  himself  that  he 
"knew  all  along  that  it  wouldn't  do ;"  and  to  place 
matters  as  best  for  himself  he  would  terminate  his 
visit  to-morrow.  He  sighed ;  the  successful  crusade 
after  dollars  in  which  so  many  years  of  his  life  had 
been  passed  did  not  now  seem  alluring.  To  do  him 
justice,  it  had  been  circumstances,  not  inborn  in- 
clination, which  had  drawn  him  into  that  particu- 
lar path.  It  was  the  old  story  that  had  ended — 

"The  other  way — the  other  way." 

He  had  played  gold  for  coppers,  and  had  become 
bankrupt.  That  was  long  ago,  and  the  remem- 
brance he  had  by  a  powerful  will  relegated  to  the 


UNCLE  PHIL.  65 

background  of  his  memory,  and  it  did  not  fret  him 
now.  But  to  adventure  again,  for  the  second  time, 
when  he  was  old  enough  to  know  better,  seemed  lit- 
tle short  of  madness.  But  who  is  ever  old  enough 
to  know  better?  And  in  this  world  of  ours  who  has 
strength  of  mind  to  resist  and  stay  back  when  the 
silver  bell  rings  and  the  curtain  goes  up  revealing 
Arcadia?  Insensibly  the  foot  is  drawn  across  the 
fairy  boundary  undeterred  by  the  knowledge  that 
the  excursion  must  be  short,  that  inexorably  the  re- 
call will  be  sounded,  bringing  back  to  sober  reality. 
These  journeys  are  taken  without  counting  the  cost 
— that  financial  pleasure  is  reserved  for  the  dreary 
future.  Be  sure  that  payment  will  be  exacted  to 
the  last  farthing. 

"Captain  Wood,  I  am  so  happy  to  see  you !  and  I 
feel  so  proud  of  you !"  quickly  communicated  Miss 
Southampton,  her  eyes  resting  with  delight  on  the 
shoulder-strap — glistening  in  its  bravery  of  new 
bullion.  The  warmth  of  her  friendship  annoys  the 
young  man. 

"Please,  Miss  Gerry,  do  not  pat  me  on  the  head 
and  call  me  a  good  boy." 

"Which  would  only  express  the  situation,  if  I 
did.  Why,  I  could  hardly  feel  more  delighted  if  it 
were  South  or  Fred,"  she  explained,  using  her 
handkerchief  to  dust  away  an  imaginary  speck  on 
the  shoulder  ornament. 

He  winced. 


66  UNCLE  PHIL. 

"Pray  don't,  Miss  Gerry — I  wish  I  hadn't  got  the 
thing— but— I  thought  it  might  please  you." 

"And  so  it  does,  you  irritable  boy.  Cannot  every 
one  see  how  charmed  I  am?" 

He  bit  his  lip,  and  to  change  the  character  of  the 
conversation,  for  he  felt  no  special  interest  in 
knowing,  he  asked : 

"Who  is  that  elderly  person,  the  companion  of 
your  late  promenade?  You  must  have  inflicted 
some  bodily  injury  on  him  as  you  burst  away.  See 
how  he  is  glowering  at  you." 

Miss  Gerry  paused,  quite  a  whole  second,  before 
replying : 

"That ! — he ! — well,  his  name  is  Smith.  He  went 
to  William  and  Mary  with  papa." 

The  ice  being  broken,  she  becomes  fairly  confiden- 
tial, and  continues  rather  faintly :  "Charley,  it  is 
the  strangest  thing  in  the  world  the  way  I  fancied 
him  at  sight.  But,"  a  feeling  of  honor  impelled 
her  to  tell  the  whole  truth,  "he  does  not  fancy  me." 

"I  am  delighted  to  hear  it,"  interpolates  Brevet- 
Captain  Wood. 

"Yes,"  she  continued,  making  no  effort  to  soften 
the  unflattering  opinion,  "he  thinks  me  to  be  a  sort 
of  hybrid — an  accentuated  tomboy." 

"Shall  I  shoot  him?"  inquired  the  young  officer. 

"Oh,  no !"  she  answered.  "I  do  not  wish  to  over- 
come his  dislike — in  that  way.  And  who  knows, 
perhaps  in  time  he  may  overlook  my  defects,  and 


UNCLH  PHIL.  67 

give  me  credit  for  the  possession  of  some  amiable 
quality,  and  I  may  become  less  obnoxious  to  him. 
At  present  he  rarely  looks  at  me  except  in  a  most 
exasperating  way,  and  snubs  me  so  continually  that 
I  am  forced  to  retaliate — or  lose  my  self-respect  for- 
ever." Her  companion  looked  at  her  curiously  in 
the  effort  to  detect  a  smile,  denoting  a  jest.  But, 
no,  she  was  quite  serious ;  and  there  was  a  wistful 
look  in  her  eyes  he  had  never  seen  in  them  before. 
"And,  Charley,"  she  added,  "it  is  very  disagreeable 
to  feel  sure  that  you  could  like  a  person  immensely 
who  does  not  care  in  the  least  for  you." 

"Eminently  so,"  he  answered,  feeling  that  in  a 
few  short  moments  he  had  grown  to  hate  Mr.  Smith 
— a  man  he  had  never  spoken  to. 

Of  all  sentiments  love  is  supposed  to  be  the  purest 
and  most  refining  to  the  human  soul — 

"Having  no  thought  of  self." 

Yet,  there  is  no  doubt,  it  sometimes  engenders 
very  hostile  emotions. 

"Are  you  not  going  to  dance  with  me,  Miss 
Gerry?" 

"They  are  going  to  play  a  quadrille  now, 
Charley,"  said  she,  coaxingly,  "and  over  there  sits 
a  lady — and  I  am  sure  no  one  has  yet  asked  her  to 
dance." 

"I  am  not  at  all  surprised,"  he  answered,  after  an 
up-and-down  look  at  the  lady  indicated, 


68  UNCLE  PHIL. 

"Charley,"  she  answered  in  a  very  pacific  tone, 
"it  is  not  her  fault  if  she  is  a  little  old — and  a  little 
plain — and  a  little  queerly  dressed.  With  it  all,  she 
is  a  woman,  with  a  woman's  instincts.  And  though 
her  character  may  be  of  the  highest  elevation,  and 
the  brilliancy  of  her  mind  such  as  to  excite  the 
envy  of  the  angels,  she  would  go  home  humbled 
and  mortified  if  no  one  had  asked  her  to  dance. 
Now,  if  South  and  Fred  were  here,"  she  paused, 
remembering  that  though  the  obedience  of  those 
brothers  as  a  rule  was  beyond  praise,  yet  on  this 
point  they  had  frequently  turned  restive,  protesting 
boldly  that  she  was  stretching  her  prerogative  to 
the  verge  of  tyranny.  And  right  well  she  knew 
with  what  unanimity  the  warriors  of  land  and  sea 
abhorred  wall-flowers,  and  not  less  "cruel  was  the 
kindness  of  the  civilians  toward  these  flowerets; 
which  might  wither  and  die  without  a  hand  ex- 
tended to  ask  them  to  dance.  "I  cannot  even  catch 
papa's  eye,"  she  continued,  with  an  injured  air, 
"though  I  have  endeavored  to  do  so.  Now,  Charley, 
don't  you  be  disagreeable,  too." 

"I  don't  think  the  ancient  party  can  dance,"  he 
demurred. 

"So  much  the  more  creditable  of  you  to  ask  her. 
And,"  resorting  to  the  debasing  influence  of  flattery, 
"with  you,  the  best  dancer  in  California ;  and  Major 
Fitzgerald  and  I  vis-a-vis,  we  can  carry  her  tri- 
umphantly through." 


UNCLE  PHIL.  69 

"I  don't  know  her,"  said  poor  Charley  weakly, 
making  his  final  protest. 

"Do  not  be  simple/'  she  commanded,  knowing 
that  she  had  gained  her  point ;  "what  are  the  floor- 
managers  for?"  And  without  loss  of  time  she  in- 
structed a  gentleman,  whose  rosette  was  of  the  right 
color,  to  introduce  Captain  Wood  to  that  lady  sit- 
ting over  there  en  solitaire,  in  the  bottle-green  meri- 
no dress.  "And  now,  Charley,  be  nice  to  her,  and 
claim  me  for  the  next  waltz — the  next  two.  I  am 
engaged  of  course — but  all  my  engagements  are  sub- 
ject to  mutations." 

The  bribe  was  sufficient ;  had  the  lady  in  bottle- 
green  been  Beelzebub's  wife,  or  Beelzebub's  daugh- 
ter the  young  officer  would  unhesitatingly  have  com- 
mitted himself  to  her  as  guide  and  protector  in  the 
quadrille  of  which  she  knew  nothing.  A  perilous 
enterprise,  let  he  who  will  attempt  it.  But  the 
young  officer  was  equal  to  the  occasion,  and  with  the 
smiling  face  that  hides  a  breaking  heart,  solicited 
the  lady  in  question  for  the  honor  of  a  dance. 

"I  don't  care  if  I  do  try,"  she  readily  assented ;  "I 
never  did  dance,  but  it  looks  so  easy."  Easy?  Well, 
it  did  prove  tolerably  easy  for  her.  And  when  Cap- 
tain Wood  conducted  her  to  a  seat,  thanking  her 
effusively,  he  left  her  in  a  glow  of  delight.  And  not 
until  she  reads  these  pages  will  she  know  that  for 
those  fleeting  moments  of  ball-room  bliss,  she  was 
indebted  to  the  watchful,  unwearied  exertions  of 


70  UNCLE  PHIL. 

three  persons,  who  good-naturedly  took  her  in 
charge.  The  difficulties  of  the  position  were  aug- 
mented that  they  were  dancing  &  la  old  California 
without  the  aid  of  a  prompter. 

I  do  not  state  it  as  a  certainty,  but  as  probable, 
that  had  Mr.  Smith  known  of  Miss  Southampton's 
agency  in  this  matter  it  would  have  been  something 
in  extenuation  of  the  general  condemnation  he  gave 
to  her  conduct  for  the  remainder  of  the  evening,  or 
rather  until  two  a.  m.,  when,  according  to  her  in- 
variable custom,  she  withdrew.  No  one  knew  bet- 
ter than  herself  the  value  of  a  timely  arrival  and  a 
judicious  departure. 

"To  increase  your  worth 
Let  yourself  be  sought." 

"No  more  balls  for  me,"  announced  Mr.  Smith, 
when  they  were  fairly  under  way  on  the  homeward 
drive. 

Colonel  Southampton  made  no  answer.  A  casual 
observer  would  have  thought  him  given  over  to  ad- 
miration of  the  moon,  as  she  lay  by  reflection  in  her 
white  beauty  on  the  deep,  still  bosom  of  the  bay. 
And  it  was  Miss  Geraldine  who  replied  to  Mr. 
Smith. 

"Balls  are  charming — when  you  get  used  to 
them." 

She  said  this  shyly,  for  she  was  conscious  that  he 


UNCLE  PHIL.  71 

had  purposely  not  seen  the  various  glances  of  pro- 
pitiation with  which  she  had  favored  him. 

As  he  made  no  reply,  the  conversation  would  have 
ceased,  had  not  a  remark  occurred  to  her  with  which 
it  was  her  belief  that  all  the  world  would  be  in  sym- 
pathy. 

With  a  flushing  face  she  said : 

"Mr.  Smith,  did  not  Brevet-Captain  Wood  appear 
to  you  as  the  ideal  young  soldier?" 

"He  appeared  to  me  the  ideal  young  jack-a- 
napes,"  was  the  rude  answer. 

"You  do  not  know  him!"  she  cried  hotly.  A 
Southampton  would  at  death's  door  do  battle  for 
an  absent  friend.  "There  never  lived  a  better  man- 
nered, or  a  better  hearted  boy  than  Charley  Wood." 

"I  have  not  the  slightest  interest  either  in  his 
manners  or  his  heart,"  said  Mr.  Smith  with  acri- 
mony. 

"I  did  not  reflect,"  answered  Gerry,  deeply  of- 
fended, "that  those  were  qualities  which  you  could 
neither  admire  nor  understand." 

Fortunately,  the  stoppage  of  the  vehicle  caused 
an  adjournment  sine  die  of  this  little  unpleasant- 
ness. 

Colonel  Southampton's  undivided  attention 
seemed  still  given  to  the  moon ;  he  was  now  look- 
ing at  her  upward  swinging  in  her  orbit.  It  was 
evidently  his  fixed  intention  to  have  neither  act 
nor  part  in  the  hostilities,  however  much  he  might 


72  UNCLE  PHIL. 

regret  them,  being  a  friend  to  both  belligerents. 

Miss  Gerry  did  not  wait  for  assistance  in  her 
descent,  but,  making  what  is  called  a  flying  jump, 
and  clearing  two  good  yards,  she  stood  beside  the 
unfurnished  flag-staff,  around  which  she  threw  one 
bare  arm,  looking  upward  to  where  the  flag  was  not. 

For  years  to  come,  in  dreams,  sleeping  and  wak- 
ing, how  often  Paul  Smith  saw  her  thus.  The  tas- 
seled  thing,  called  a  rigolette,  had  fallen  off,  and 
the  short,  scarlet  cloak  had  slipped  to  her  waist. 
The  flooding  moonlight  enveloped  her,  destroying 
color,  and  lending  the  effect  of  pure,  insensuous 
beauty.  Mr.  Smith  did  think  then  that  she  was  the 
verisemblance  of  a  Greek  goddess  clinging  fast  to 
her  altar  after  it  had  been  despoiled  of  its  rich  gifts. 
He  almost  started  at  her  clear,  flute-like  tones,  say- 
ing, as  she  came  near  to  her  father:  "I  do  not 
think  that  I  ever  feel  real,  flawless  happiness  out 
of  office  hours — when  the  flag  is  down." 

"And  so,"  said  Smith,  "you  still  remember  that 
you  are  an  American,  and  love  your  flag?" 

"I  think,"  she  answered,  simply,  "that  because  of 
living  nearly  all  my  life  so  much  among  foreigners 
that  I  appreciate  my  birthright  all  the  more,  and 
feel  prouder  than  Americans  usually  do  that  I  am 
an  American.  I  will  now  say  good-night  to  you, 
papa.  And,  Mr.  Smith,  I  wish  you  good-night." 

Both  men  stood  watching  her  until  she  disap- 
peared behind  the  door  of  her  own  apartment.  That 


UNCLE  PHIL.  73 

old  Spanish  home  had  no  hallway,  the  doors  all 
opening  out  on  the  long  corridor. 

"Good-night,  Smith,"  said  Colonel  Southampton ; 
"you  had  better  go  to  your  roost,  as  I  am  going  to 
do." 

Left  to  himself,  Mr.  Smith  began  to  walk  up  and 
down  the  covered  promenade ;  its  live-oak  floor  was 
dampened  by  the  salt  spray.  He  lighted  a  cigar, 
but  in  his  somber  meditations  it  soon  went  out.  "Let 
me  see,"  he  murmured,  "how  many  years  have  gone 
by  since  that  girl  jilted  me  for  a  richer  suitor — I 
had  not  made  my  millions  then — it  was  a  bad  hurt 
I  got.  It  did  seem  quite  too  dreadful  for  that  fair, 
soft  beauty,  with  her  pretty,  baby  ways,  to  have  an 
eye  to  the  depth  of  a  man's  pocket.  I  got  over  the 
love  of  her — of  course ;  but  something  valuable  went 
away  from  me  with  it — the  ability  to  perfectly  trust 
another  woman.  Good  God!  were  it  not  for  that 
what  a  heaven  is  now  in  view.  A  man  is  never  too 
old  to  make  a  fool  of  himself!  and  since  I  first 
looked  on  this  daughter  of  Southampton's  I  have 
loved — no !  I  have  been  besotted  about  her ;  and  in 
my  efforts  to  save  myself  from  coming  a  cropper, 
as  would  most  likely  happen,  I  have — of  premedi- 
tation, acted  toward  her  like  a  brute.  I  believe  a 
grizzly  bear  would  have  been  more  mannerly.  But 
it  was  of  necessity — at — my — time — of — life — I — 
cannot — stand — another  disappointment." 

Here  he  made  a  mental  review  of  the  bearing  of 


74  UNCLE  PHIL. 

Miss  Southampton  toward  himself  since  the  mo- 
ment when  he  saw  her  writing  in  the  office  of  the 
collector  of  customs.  "Cupid's  freaks  are  unac- 
countable— and  some  inner  sense  inclines  me  to 
think  that  she  could  like  me,  perhaps  become  fond  of 
me,  were  it  not  for  that  damned  young  military 
puppy." 

He  was  not  the  only  night-walker.  The  public 
character  of  this  building  rendered  its  corridor  a 
pass-way  free  for  all,  and  Mr.  Smith  saw  approach- 
ing him  the  man  Hamilton,  who  enquired,  jauntily, 
as  he  passed  by,  "Moon-struck  or  star-gazing?" 

Not  at  any  time  could  Smith  have  been  called  an 
amiable  man,  and  just  now  his  temper  was  not  at 
its  sweetest,  and  he  replied,  roughly,  "Go  to  h — 1 !" 
This  was  a  very  impolite  speech,  and,  strange  to  say, 
seemingly  gave  no  offense,  for  the  gentleman  merely 
smiled,  and  said  softly,  as  he  stepped  down  from  the 
corridor :  "Another  Eichmond  in  the  field." 

"I  have  no  fears  of  that  chap,"  said  Smith,  and 
after  a  little  reflection  he  added,  "nor  of  any  one. 
I'll  stand  or  fall  as  I  may."  He  relighted  his  cigar, 
and  aided  by  its  soothing  influence,  and — philoso- 
phy, which  some  place  their  hopes  upon  to  temper 
the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb,  brought  himself  to  a 
feeling,  or  thought  he  did,  that  he  "would  be  able  to 
bear  it,"  no  matter  what  fate  might  decree.  "Yet, 
I  think,"  was  his  final  conclusion,  "that  I  will  leave 
here  to-morrow — that  will  be  safest," 


UNCLE  PHIL.  75 


CHAPTER  VI. 

DAVID  AND  JONATHAN. 

"We  are  in  God's  hands,  brother." 

But  he  did  not  leave  on  the  morrow,  nor  the  day 
after.  Colonel  Southampton's  was  a  pleasant  house 
•  to  visit.  Diversion  followed  diversion  in  rapid  suc- 
cession and  variety.  It  was  an  ideal  household  with 
one  exception,  the  non-appearance  of  Mrs.  South- 
ampton. 

Uncle  Phil  was  the  Major  Domo,  and  superin- 
tended the  household  according  to  the  Virginia  re- 
gime with  an  admixture  of  the  taking-life-easy  ele- 
ment borrowed  from  the  native  Calif  ornians ; 
expenses  not  considered.  And  Paul  Smith  often 
found  himself  wondering  if  Colonel  Southampton's 
means  kept  pace  with  his  outlay.  Some  instinct 
told  him  No,  and  that  a  crisis  was  not  far  off. 

A  great  poet  once  made  the  statement:  "Man's 
love  is  of  man's  life  a  thing  apart."  Perhaps  the 
great  poet  did  not  know,  or  perhaps  he  allowed  his 
imagination  to  run  riot  untrammeled  by  facts.  One 
needs  to  be  only  moderately  well-informed  to  know, 
without  room  for  doubt,  that  kingdoms  have  been 
convulsed,  and  cities  ruined  for  a  light  heart  that 
beat  within  a  silken  bodice — and  not  worth  having. 


76  UNCLE  PHIL. 

But  there  is  another  love,  between  man  and  man, 
which  is  rarer,  and  holier.  "The  soul  of  Jonathan 
was  knit  with  the  soul  of  David."  The  glory  of 
Thebes  rose  in  the  friendship  of  Pelopidas  and 
Epaminondas,  and  departed  when  that  friendship 
was  severed  by  death.  Antony  mourned  over  Ce- 
sar's dead  body:  "He  was  my  friend,  faithful  and 
just  to  me."  And  inviolable  was  the  love  between 
Pylades  and  Orestes.  So  had  the  warm,  friendly 
heart  of  Robert  Southampton  gained  its  empire  over 
the  equally  warm  but  less  demonstrative  heart  of 
Paul  Smith,  and  he  tarried  on,  resolved  that  should 
trouble  come  he  would  stand  by  the  side  of  his 
friend. 

At  the  commencement  of  his  visit,  Mr.  Smith 
each  morning  made  polite  enquiries  concerning  the 
health  of  Mrs.  Southampton.  "Mrs.  Southampton 
is  very  much  of  an  invalid  and  seldom  leaves  her 
room,"  was  the  unvarying  answer,  let  him  ask  whom 
he  would.  This  reply  was  delivered  courteously 
enough ;  yet  the  tones  were  a  distinctly  implied  de- 
sire that  he  should  seek  to  know  no  more.  That  she 
received  visitors  he  knew;  for  he  frequently  met 
Mr.  Hamilton  either  going  or  coming,  always  with 
some  remark  about  "reading  to  Mrs.  Southampton." 

Mr.  Smith  was  a  gentleman,  and  willing  to  be 
mute,  deaf  and  blind  about  what  did  not  concern 
him.  But  his  friendship  was  of  too  sincere  a  nature 
not  to  feel  deeply  concerned  about  this  mystery  in 


UNCLE  PHIL.  77 

his  friend's  house.  And  hoping  there  might  be  some 
way  of  being  "helpful  to  Robert,"  he  resolved  to 
put  some  questions  to  Uncle  Phil,  and  one  day,  after 
listening  for  a  long  time  to  discussive  reminiscences 
of  Virginia,  he  asked  with  apparent  carelessness : 

"Uncle  Phil,  what  ails  Mrs.  Southampton?" 

An  expression  of  hopeless  impenetrability  spread 
over  the  sable  features. 

"Dar  ain't  nuthin'  in  perticlar  de  marter  wid 
Miss  Frawnces.  She's  kinder  dilikit — dat's  all ;  but 
she's  got  narves,  an'  sometimes  worrits  orful,"  here 
the  remembrance  of  some  personal  grievance  get- 
ting the  better  of  discretion,  he  added,  testily :  "an' 
she  makes  it  wery  onpleasant  fur  mos'  f olkes,  me  an' 
Marse  Robert  in  perticler.  But,  Good  Lordy !  how 
is  we  gwrine  ter  he'p  oursefs?  We  says  nuthin',  an' 
keeps  outer  dar  tell  times  gits  good,  which  ain't 
tuck  place  tell  yit.  But  she's  dilikit." 

"Does  Miss  Southampton  ever  try  to  be  of  service 
to  her  stepmother?"  enquired  Mr.  Smith. 

"Shew!"  indignantly  sniffed  Uncle  Phil,  losing 
his  temper  and  his  little  remaining  prudence  with 
it;  his  young  lady  was  the  apple  of  his  eye.  "Miss 
Prawnces  she  des  natchully  hates  Miss  Gerry  like 
pison,  bekase  Miss  Gerry,  she's  young,  an'  harn- 
some,  an'  de  pictur  ob  health.  But,"  he  stopped, 
mortified  and  petulant,  feeling  that  he  was  betray- 
ing the  secrets  of  his  house,  "here  I  is,  des  like  er 
fetched  fule,  dat  karnt  hole  his  tongue — an'  talkin' 


78  UNCLE  PHIL. 

'bout  dat  what  ain't  no  bis'ness  ob  hisen,  an'/'  men- 
daciously trying  to  rehabilitate  his  statements,  "tell- 
in'  ontruths ;  fer  de  good  Lordy  in  heben  knows  dat 
dar  ain't  nuthin'  de  marter  wid  nobody,  an'  dat  Miss 
Frawnces  an'  Marse  Robert,  an'  Miss  Gerry,  an'  our 
young  gemplemen — befo'  dey  went  erway — was  des 
as  lovin'  an'  kine  as  could  be.  But  Miss  Frawnces, 
she  is  er  little  dilikit,  fer  a  fac'." 

It  was  now  clear  to  Mr.  Smith  there  was  nothing 
he  could  do,  but  in  his  heart  there  rose  a  great  ten- 
derness for  his  old  friend,  as  one  on  whom  the  Al- 
mighty hand  was  heavily  laid. 

"Come,  Robert,"  said  Smith,  linking  his  arm 
within  that  of  Colonel  Southampton,  "let's  take  a 
walk." 

Together  the  two  men  strolled  over  the  fine,  firm 
sand  around  the  smooth  curve  of  the  bay.  They  had 
not  proceeded  far  before  meeting  with — well,  he 
was  in  the  form  of  a  man,  and  showed  a  notable  de- 
sire to  appear  well  under  the  disadvantages  so  evi- 
dent that  the  different  articles  of  his  attire  had 
been  contributed  at  different  times  by  different  peo- 
ple. A  dress  hat,  nearly  new,  was  set  jauntily  on 
his  head,  and  so  tilted  on  one  side  that  it  retained 
its  place  only  by  the  force  of  habit.  He  was  a  poor 
unfortunate  with  an  alienated  mind. 

"How  are  you,  Mac?"  said  Colonel  Southampton 
kindly,  as  they  passed  him. 

"I  wonder,"  said  Smith,  "if  when  the' world  goes 


UNCLE  PHIL.  79 

too  hard  there  is  not  some  compensation  in  the  loss 
of  the  mind?" 

"Good  God !  no,"  was  the  hasty  reply.  "Anything 
but  that.  Not  one  of  us  can  tell  what  the  future 
may  bring.  Prosperity  is  easy  borne,  needing  no 
special  preparation.  But  when  adversity  comes, 
then  is  wanted  a  clear  mind  to  meet  it  as  a  man 
should." 

Turning  from  the  bay,  they  walked  on,  leaving 
the  town  in  their  rear.  The  two  men  were  silent. 
For  both  of  them  the  look-ahead  was  fraught  with 
grave  awe.  It  is  only  the  young  who  with  their  elas- 
tic spirits  and  buoyant  hopes  can  look  far  into 
futurity  and  see  away  in  the  distance  the  open  por- 
tals of  the  shining  gates — and  fair  as  a  dream,  the 
land  beyond.  But  they  will  not  read  the  placards 
by  the  way,  danger  signals,  warning  against  forbid- 
den fruits.  No,  the  Dead  Sea  apples  are  golden — 
and  the  bitter  flavor  each  one  must  taste  for  him- 
self, learning  the  difficult  lesson  to  discern  the  true 
from  the  false. 

Smith  was  filled  with  admiration  as  he  gazed 
upon  the  forest  of  stately,  dark,  gloomy  oaks ;  silent 
sentinels,  standing  where  they  had  stood  for  cen- 
turies— and  by  their  magnificence  defying  the  ruth- 
less ax.  Then  they  began  talking  over  the  old  col- 
lege days;  of  the  hopes  and  aspirations  in  which 
they  then  indulged. 
"You  were  always  a  steady  chap,  Paul,"  said  Colo- 


80  UNCLE  PHIL. 

nel  Southampton,  "carrying  plenty  of  ballast,  and 
have  made  your  mark ;  while  I,  wanting  the  sand- 
bags, have  drifted  along  with  the  shifting  winds, 
and  have  accomplished  nothing  to  be  proud  of." 

"True,"  was  the  answer ;  "I  have  made  money,  but 
that  seems  a  poor  life-work — there  are  no  pockets  in 
shrouds.  You  have  at  least  enjoyed  to  the  full  what 
are  called  the  pleasures  of  life,  which  I  have  never 
taken  time  to  do.  And  now,  I  fear  it  is  too  late  to 
overcome  old  habits ;  yet,  I  confess  to  you,  Kobert,  I 
would,  if  I  could,  feel  an  interest  in  that  which  in- 
terests others;  also,  don't  laugh  at  me,  I  should 
dearly  love  to  participate  in  their  amusements.  Yon 
have  no  idea  how  out  of  place  I  feel  among  gay, 
young  people — like  a  marline-spike  in  a  drawing- 
room." 

"Paul,  Paul,  dear  old  boy !"  said  Colonel  South- 
ampton affectionately,  "there  is  not  so  much  in  it 
as  you  think — everything  that  glitters  is  not  gold — 
and  there  is  many  a  smiling  face  above  a  tired, 
worn-out  heart." 

Smith  thought  he  heard  a  sigh,  and  slipping  his 
arm  free,  he  passed  it  round  his  friend's  neck  in  the 
old  boyish  way. 

"Robert,"  said  he,  "I  have  more  money  than  I  can 
use,  or  know  what  to  do  with — I  want  you  to  take 
some." 

Colonel  Southampton's  face  flushed. 

"Paul,"    said   he   reproachfully,  "another    man 


UNCLE  PHIL.  81 

would  not  have  so  insulted  me."  Seeing  his  friend's 
hurt  look,  he  hastened  to  add,  "Don't  mind  me, 
Paul — I  am  always  too  quick  tempered.  I  thank  you 
for  the  offer  so  kindly  meant.  I  have  no  debts,  and 
I  make  a  good  deal  of  money  if  I  do  spend  a  good 
deal.  While  I  live  I  can  take  care  of  Mrs.  South- 
ampton and  Gerry.  After  me,  my  sons  will,  I  have 
no  doubt,  do  their  duty." 

Then,  as  if  dashing  care  violently  to  the  winds 
by  an  effort  of  will,  his  face  assumed  its  rare  smile, 
and  he  began  entertaining  Smith  with  that  brilliant 
flow  of  conversation  for  which  he  had  always  been 
so  remarkable. 

Weeks  succeeded  weeks,  and  Paul  Smith  lingered. 
And  while  no  one  could  guess,  hidden  away  under 
his  grave,  reserved  demeanor — not  at  all  suggestive 
of  spoons — the  depth  of  his  passion  for  Geraldine 
Southampton,  it  was  there  all  the  same.  Yet  neither 
by  word  nor  look  had  he  sought  to  convey  the  fact 
to  her. 

Do  not  blame  him  too  much  for  wasting  precious 
time  in  considering  the  pros  et  cons,  whether 
or  not  "it  would  do" — for  her  sake  as  well  as  his 
own.  There  was  not  only  the  disparity  of  years, 
but  widely  differing  as  the  two  poles  were  their 
two  natures.  Of  his  influence  over  her  he  was  con- 
scious, but  there  came  an  intrusive  question: 
"Would  it  be  permanent?"  Of  this  he  would  have 
felt  a  stronger  assurance  but  for  the  existence  of 


82  UNCLE  PHIL. 

Charley  Wood.  Again  the  intrusive  question  makes 
itself  heard :  "Is  it  in  the  heart  of  woman  to  prefer 
a  battered  old  hulk  like  me  to  that  handsome,  gal- 
lant young  officer?" — these  were  honest  moments. 

About  the  sex  he  knew  little,  and  if  he  had  ever 
heard,  he  had  long  ago  forgotten : 

"Who  shall  dictate  to  a  woman's  fancy,  or  reduce 
to  rule  the  wandering  inclinations  of  a  woman's 

heart?" 

He  did  not  know  that  the  woman  who  is  true  to 
the  instincts  of  her  sex  is  seldom  attracted  by  the 
mere  comeliness  of  a  man.  She  looks  upon  the 
most  regular  of  profiles  with  indifference.  Even 
beauty  like  unto  that  of  Absalom  (who  was  with- 
out flaw  from  the  crown  of  his  head  to  the  soles 
of  his  feet),  she  turns  from  with  an  unadmiring 
eye.  And  her  tenderest  attentions  are  oftenest  di- 
rected toward  an  object,  for  no  reason  on  earth 
that  her  friends  can  see,  and  who  are  lost  in  won- 
der at  her  perversion  of  judgment. 

The  wish  to  be  happy  is  the  natural  desire  of 
every  human  being,  and  with  the  exceptions  to 
prove  the  rule,  there  is  great  unanimity  in  the  opin- 
ion that  happiness  is  best  secured  by 

"  —  the  love  of  man  and  woman, 
When  they  love  their  best,  closest,  and  sweetest." 

Of  the  importance  of  making  judicious  selections, 
much  has  been  said  and  written  by  those  who  ap- 


.UNCLE  PHIU  83 

parently  understood  the  subject.  Yet  the  world 
grows  no  wiser,  and  mistakes  are  continually  made. 

That  "it  is  better  to  dwell  on  a  house-top  than 
with  a  brawling  woman"  is  certain.  And  it  is  equal- 
ly certain  that  an  exceedingly  tame  woman  is  never 
highly  prized,  and  frequently  subjected  to  indig- 
nity. But  the  world  is  wide,  and  women  are  plenty, 
and  like  stars  differ  in  glory,  and  it  should  not  be 
difficult  to  find  the  precise  one  to  suit  every  fancy. 

The  proper  time  to  love  has  also  been  a  theme  of 
discussion.  Plato,  who  had  many  thoughts  on 
many  subjects,  and  is  still  allowed  to  be  a  deep 
thinker,  thought  that  "love  was  best  learned  late  in 
life." 

Mr.  Smith,  who  consistently  adhered  to  his  own 
ideas,  did  not  bother  himself  about  the  experiences 
of  others,  pleasant  or  otherwise,  and  endeavored 
to  work  out  the  problem  for  himself  in  his  own 
heart,  making  of  it  an  odd  sort  of  debatable  ground 
sufficiently  disquieting,  but  as  a  bait  sent  from 
Lucifer  for  his  destruction,  the  evil  suggestion  rose : 
"She  might  marry  me  for  my  money." 

"Money  is  the  root  of  evil,"  so  says  the  Book  of 
Books,  and  no  one  can  spend  long  years  absorbed 
in  its  accumulation  without  imbibing  something  of 
its  evil  taint. 

Mr.  Smith  wrestled  with  the  idea,  so  unworthy 
of  him,  and  thought  he  had  put  it  to  flight.  But 
there  was  Gerry's  persistent  sisterly  blandish- 


84:  UNCLE  PHIL. 

ments  toward  Captain  Wood  that  tormented  him 
continually.  And,  so — ah !  who  can  tell  when 
the  armies  within  the  human  soul  are  contending, 
admirably  fighting  on  all  sides,  what  the  issue  of 
the  Armageddon  will  be?  "Best  to  give  her  up! 
Best  to  give  her  up !"  said  Mr.  Smith,  slowly,  then 
with  the  fire  of  youth  he  broke  out :  "By  the  Lord ! 
I  can't." 


tJNCLE  PHIL.  85 


CHAPTER   VII. 

TEA  DRINKING. 

"Golden,  or  gray, 

Tell  me,  I  pray, 
What  is  the  light  of  my  luck  to-day." 

The  Custom  House  in  its  prevailing  character- 
istic was  the  reverse  of  loneliness,  yet  on  one  after- 
noon when  Mr.  Smith  returned  from  a  stroll  he  had 
been  making — of  late  he  had  been  rather  given  to 
solitary  rambles — it  seemed  unaccountably  dull. 
He  mentioned  this  to  Uncle  Phil,  who  wras  employ- 
ing himself  usefully  in  sweeping  the  long  corridor. 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  "it's  bekase  of  Miss  Gerry. 
She's  bin  gone  mor'n  er  hour,  an'  when  she  ain't 
here  I  kin'er  feel  it  in  de  a'r — an'  it  don't  'pear  ter 
me  dat  de  sun  shines  de  same." 

Smith  resisted  an  inclination  to  ask  where  she 
had  gone,  but  voluntarily  Uncle  Phil  gave  the  infor- 
mation. 

"She  is,  Miss  Gerry  is,  gone  ter  wisit  Doila  Dis- 
gustin  Manyo." 

"Dona  Augustia  Hemeno,  you  mean,"  said 
Smith,  who  had  heard  of  that  beautiful  Spanish 
lady,  who,  when  her  countrymen  were  in  arms  re- 
sisting the  United  States  troops,  went  to  her  church 


86  tJNCLE  PHIL. 

and  took  a  solemn  oath  that  she  would  not  dance 
again  until  she  could  wear  a  necklace  of  American 
ears.  The  grewsome  necklace  was  never  hers,  and 
she  had  learned  to  be  happy  without  it. 

"Dat's  what  I  said,"  replied  Uncle  Phil  with  dig- 
nity. "An'  Miss  Gerry  she  thinks  lots  ob  dese  Kal- 
iforny  folkes,  an'  dey  thinks  lots  ob  her,  an'  Miss 
Gerry  she  lowed  dat  she  mought  keep  on  an'  drap 
in  enter  Senora  Abrigo  fer  er  dish  er  tea — char,  dey 
call  it  here.  But  dese  Kaliforny  folkes  neber  wus 
in  Wirginny;  an'  it  ain't  fa'r  ter  suspect  too  much 
ob  dem.  It's  mos'  time  now  fer  Miss  Gerry  ter  be 
on  her  way  back;  an'  ef  y'u  wus  ter  wander  roun' 
kinder  permiscus  it  wouldn't  'sprise  me  none  ef 
y'u  was  ter  hab  er  chaunce  ter  fetch  her  home." 

"I  believe  I  will  step  down  to  the  Washington 
Hotel  and  see  who  is  there,"  said  Smith,  non-com- 
mittal about  the  proposed  promiscuous  wandering. 
He  turned  to  walk  away.  And  Uncle  Phil  resumed 
his  sweeping,  which  had  been  suspended,  mutter- 
ing :  "Dat  ar  gempleman,  as  it  'pears  ter  me,  don't 
axactly  stan'  under  de  persition — but  pre-haps  it  is 
on  de  keards  fer  him  ter  larn,"  he  chuckled. 

In  communing  with  himself  as  he  stepped  along 
Mr.  Smith  admitted  to  himself  that  he  not  only 
hoped  to  meet  Miss  Southampton,  but  also  hoped 
for  a  tete  d  tete  walk  with  her ;  though  it  would  be 
something  in  the  nature  of  a  miracle  to  find  her  not 
surrounded  by  a  posse  of  "numskulls,"  as  he  per- 


UNCLE  PHIL.  87 

sistently  classed  Miss  Gerry's  admirers,  with  one 
solitary  exception — himself. 

With  disdain,  he  would  have  repudiated  any  and 
all  reliances  on  "luck,"  the  bugbear  of  weak  minds; 
yet  with  a  hope  to  be  favored  by  some  bon  chance 
he  attentively  scanned  each  house  that  he  passed — 
tiendas  and  dwelling  frankly  intermixing — until 
in  the  distance  he  saw  a  large,  adobe  house,  with 
wide  open  door,  and  windows  thrown  up.  This 
was  unusual  with  the  native  Californians,  who  do 
not  prefer  to  enjoy  al  fresco  in  their  houses,  and 
had  a  suggestion  of  Gerry.  He  was  not  what  could 
be  called  a  brisk  walker,  yet  his  steady,  even  strides 
soon  brought  him  on  even  terms  with  the  objective 
point,  and  he  could  see,  sitting  at  one  end  of  a  long 
table,  in  the  middle  of  the  room  &  la  pais,  Miss 
Southampton  and  a  half-dozen  other  ladies.  They 
were  huddled  close  together,  and  having  tea. 

Nearly  opposite  was  a  vacant  house.  All  houses 
in  Bonito  intended  for  commercial  uses  have  out- 
side adobe  seats,  for  possible  customers  to  repose 
upon,  also  on  which  the  proprietor  can  repose  while 
waiting  for  customers.  Here  Mr.  Smith  halted; 
there  was  no  need  to  go  further.  So  he  sat  down 
on  the  adobe  bench,  took  out  a  Havana,  which  he 
lighted,  and  began  puffing.  Such  a  procedure  was 
too  common  an  occurrence  to  attract  attention. 
An  inland  breeze  coming  straight  over  from  the  big 
live  oaks  brought  upon  its  accommodating  bosom 


88  UNCLE  PHIL. 

the  tones  of  the  talkers,  making  their  conversation 
audible. 

Listening  to  the  conversation  not  intended  for 
one  is  not  comme  il  faut,  and  sometimes  entails  un- 
pleasant results.  But  on  this  occasion  nobody  was 
hurt,  and  Mr.  Smith  listened  with  the  greatest  en- 
joyment to  the  gay  babbling  sustained  principally 
by  Miss  Southampton.  He  had  before  been  struck 
by  the  quality  of  her  voice,  so  clear  and  sweet,  and 
a  habit  of  dwelling  on  her  vowels  gave  to  her  tones 
the  liquid  melody  of  a  flute  far  out  at  sea. 

Their  innocent  fun,  not  boisterous,  but  genuinely 
amusing,  had  its  effect  on  him,  a  man  not  easily 
amused.  His  heart  softened  to  the  degree  that  the 
sitting  of  the  Land  Commissioners  at  Los  Angeles, 
whose  decision  would  affect  his  title  to  large  tracts 
of  land,  and  the  business  of  the  line  of  Australian 
steamers  which  he  owned,  no  longer  seemed  para- 
mount; his  mind  dwelling  with  strange  insistence 
on  the  pleasure  of  having  that  bright  young  daugh- 
ter of  his  old  friend  to  sit  en  permanence  at  his  owrn 
board.  She  had  never  appeared  to  him  quite  so 
charming.  This  foregathering  with  her  own  sex 
with  such  hearty  enjoyment  was  to  him  a  new 
phase  in  her  character. 

Tea  was  to  Mr.  Smith  an  abomination,  even  as  the 
flesh  of  the  swine  to  the  Israelites;  yet  he  became 
conscious  of  an  inclination  to  join  the  tea-drinkers, 


UNCLE  PHIL.  89 

and,  diffidence  being  an  unknown  quality,  he  was 
about  to  cross  over  and  beg  a  cup. 

But  some  one  was  there  before  him.  Seuora 
Vallejo — her  son  was  then  in  the  State  Senate — 
was  stopping  at  the  door  by  which  lay  her  route. 
She,  too,  had  been  attracted  by  the  appearances 
within.  "Buenos  tardes,  mis  amigas." 

There  was  a  general  uprising.  The  native  Cali- 
fornians  are  extremely  deferential  to  the  aged. 

With  a  quick  movement  Miss  Southampton  ad- 
vances to  meet  the  new-comer,  and  murmuring 
"Madre  mia,"  greets  her  &  la  pais,  pressing  her 
fresh  young  cheek  to  the  withered  old  face — even 
so  might  that  fair  Jewish  maiden  have  cherished 
her  ancient  king — and  leaning  on  that  strong, 
young  arm  the  old  lady  comes  forward  and  takes 
her  place  at  the  table,  which  the  others  have  been 
so  busy  in  arranging.  Miss  Gerry  brings  her  tea, 
and  supplies  her  with  the  little  sweet  cakes  and 
other  dutiful  attention,  which  age  receives  with  so 
much  pleasure  from  the  hands  of  youth. 

After  this  interlude  the  cheerful  talk  again  rip- 
ples. 

Mr.  Smith  decides  not  to  intrude,  resigning  him- 
self to  remain  for  the  present  where  he  was,  with 
something  of  the  Peri-outside-the-gate  feeling.  Pres- 
ently the  clatter  of  tea-cups  ceased  to  make  way  for 
another  feature  of  the  entertainment.  He  dis- 


90  UNCLE  PHIL. 

tinctly  hears  Sefiora  Abrigo's  call,  "Trae  lumbre, 

Mariquita." 

Smith  shudders,  well  knowing  what  is  to  follow. 
His  heart  sinks  and  hardens,  yet  he  watches,  and 
listens,  and  hopes,  to  see  the  cigarettes  declined  by 
at  least  one  of  the  company.  His  hope  was  falla- 
cious. Not  only  did  Miss  Southampton  possess  her- 
self of  a  cigarette,  but  her  manner  was  not  unac- 
customed. It  was  easy  and  business-like,  as  with 
educated  fingers  she  rapidly  prepared  the  cigarette 
for  her  lips — a  manufacturer  of  cigarettes  could 
hardly  have  been  more  deft. 

Mr.  Smith  was  stirred  to  anger,  and  said  mental- 
ly: "I'll  tell  her  father!  But  what  would  be  the 
use?"  he  added;  "that  infatuated  gentleman  can 
see  no  flaw  in  his  idol." 

There  are  certain  substances  naturally  hard  and 
unyielding  that  on  the  application  of  emollients 
become  ductile;  but  harden  again  when  the  favoring 
conditions  are  withdrawn.  Mr.  Smith's  gentler  feel- 
ings did  not  at  once  congeal  entirely ;  but  they  had, 
so  to  speak,  received  a  blow  between  the  eyes.  And 
he  repeated  the  same  question  which  he  had  so  often 
asked  himself:  "Will  it  do?" 

He  held  to  safe,  traditional  opinions,  and  it  was 
contrary  to  his  most  fundamental  rules  for  self-gov- 
ernment to  decide  any  question  of  importance  by 
impulse.  His  reason  had  all  along  indicated  to  him 
that  it  were  better  to  occupy  the  neutral  ground 


UNCLE  PHIL.  91 

between  love  and  friendship,  the  position  of  a  quasi- 
paternal  relative.  But  argue  as  he  would,  that  posi- 
tion seemed  singularly  unsatisfying. 

The  old  Adam  element  is  hard  to  eradicate;  and 
he  could  not  remain  insensible  to  the  attractive 
charm  of  her  unique  personality.  Her  beauty  was 
replete  with  the  animating  principle  imparted  by 
warm  blood  and  a  quick  brain.  Nor  could  he  re- 
press the  desire  for  her  possession.  Life  would  be 
so  cold,  so  undesirable  without  her.  He  pondered 
for  fifty  consecutive  seconds,  then  he  decided  to 
cross  the  Rubicon,  and  boldly  ask  her  to  marry 
him. 

Presently  he  heard  Miss  Southampton  say,  "Yo 
me  voy,"  and  it  was  with  feelings  of  relief  that  he 
heard  her  decline  the  entreaties  to  remain  longer. 
"No  es  posible  ahora;  es  menester  que  voya  &  me 
casa.  Volvere'  muy  pronto.  Buenas  tardes — hasta 
luego  amigas  de  mi  corazon."  How  cheerily  her 
adieux  sounded. 

She  was  at  once  joined  by  Smith. 

"Miss  Gerry,"  he  said,  "under  instruction  from 
Uncle  Phil,  I  have  been  wandering  around  per- 
miscus  for  a  chaunce  to  fetch  you  home." 

"I  suppose,"  she  answered  gayly,  "that  Uncle 
Phil  entered  into  all  sorts  of  recognizances  that  I 
would  keep  the  peace?" 

"Indeed  he  did  not.  I  am  on  my  own  errand, 
and  if  I  fail  there  is  no  shame  in  going  down  be- 


92  UNCLE  PHIL. 

fore  so  strong  a  lance."  His  tones  lowered,  and 
softened  miraculously,  making  every  word  a  caress. 
"I  am  going  to  ask  you  a  plain  question." 

It  is  no  wonder  that  Smith's  heart  should  beat 
exultingly  at  the  bright,  beautiful  flush  that  over- 
spread Gerry's  face,  and  that  he  should  have  lost 
his  head  and  spoken  as  the  spirit  moved  him — only 
an  interruption  occurred.  Not  a  band  of  fierce  bar- 
barians as  witnessed  by  young  Norval,  but  a  band 
of  gay  officers  came  trooping  down  the  hill  from 
the  fort. 

At  the  sight  of  Miss  Southampton  they  gave  a 
subdued  view-hallo,  and  charged  in  a  body. 

Gerry  is  too  happy  not  to  be  on  good  terms  with 
all  the  world,  and  greets  them  pleasantly.  Mr. 
Smith  smothers  a  malediction,  and  remembers  an 
engagement  elsewhere. 

After  making  up  his  mind  to  the  sticking  place, 
Mr.  Smith  is  not  one  to  "woo  like  a  snail,"  yet  op- 
portunities did  not  serve,  and  the  most  unconven- 
tional of  men  are  averse  to  telling  their  tales  of  love 
in  public.  The  influx  of  visitors  to  that  popular 
house  was  continuous ;  to  pass  a  half -hour  with  Miss 
Gerry  was  a  pleasant  divertisement. 

Mr.  Smith  was  not  a  patient  gentleman,  and  it 
was  against  his  habits  to  be  balked  in  any  of  his 
desires;  the  waiting  policy  was  to  him  singularly 
distasteful.  Therefore,  if  opportunities  would  not 
make  themselves,  he  would  make  them.  Throwing 


UNCLS  PHIL.  93 

down  the  newspaper  he  had  been  impolitely  read- 
ing, and  unmindful  of  the  presence  of  the  dozen  or 
more  officers — army  and  navy  commingled — and, 
without  using  one  of  the  many  flowers  of  rhetoric 
in  frequent  use  by  well-bred  people  to  avoid  the 
appearance  of  being  abrupt,  he  said  with  a  direct- 
ness that  was  undoubtedly  the  offspring  of  sincer- 
ity :  "Miss  Southampton,  I  am  told  that  the  mack- 
erel have  come  into  the  bay  in  schools,  and  that  it 
is  entertaining  to  fish  for  them  from  the  deck  of  the 
old  McKim.  Will  you  go  fishing  with  me  this  after- 
noon?" 

"Yes.  I  will  go  fishing  with  you,"  she  answered, 
raising  her  brown  eyes  shyly,  and  a  tender  smile 
came  to  her  lips  as  she  watched  the  somewhat  bulky 
figure  leave  the  room. 

In  a  moment  the  fair  earth  seemed  invested  with 
new  beauties.  Never  before  had  the  sunlight 
flooded  the  distant  mountains  across  the  bay  with 
such  glad  brightness.  Wide  open  were  the  gates 
of  Paradise,  and  within  them  she  was  going  to  en- 
ter. But  this  contemplation  was  ill-timed,  and  all 
too  .brief. 

One  of  the  polished  gentlemen — the  insignia  on 
his  buttons  showing  that  he  belonged  to  the  naval 
service  of  Uncle  Sam — was  not  without  experience, 
and  understood  the  situation,  and  after  the  man- 
ner of  his  kind  felt  the  pangs  of  envy,  which  die- 


94  UNCLE  PHIL. 

tated  with  unwarrantable  promptness  the  follow- 
ing: 

"Miss  Southampton,  I  am  told  that  the  mackerel 
have  come  into  the  bay  in  schools,  and  that  it  is 
entertaining  to  fish  for  them  from  the  deck  of  the 
old  McKim.  Will  you  go  fishing  with  me — to-mor- 
row afternoon?" 

Miss  Gerry's  eyes  were  brilliant  with  anger,  as 
they  rested  on  the  speaker. 

"No.  I  will  not  go  fishing  with  you  any  after- 
noon." 

"Sorry,"  murmured  the  gentleman  plaintively. 

The  auspicious  life  of  this  young  girl  had  af- 
fected her  manners  royally,  and  without  hesitation 
she  rose  to  announce  this  audience  at  an  end,  feel- 
ing impatient  to  be  alone  with  her  happiness. 

Her  world  had  been  an  exceptional  one;  the 
rough  corners  had  been  rounded  and  her  paths 
made  smooth.  And,  though  living  in  an  atmosphere 
of  adulation,  she  was  perfectly  fancy-free  until  so 
lately,  when  she  had  come  under  the  spell  of  a  na- 
ture so  hard,  strong  and  unyielding  that  her  own 
imperious  will  recognized  its  suzerain.  At  first  she 
had  raised  the  standard  of  revolt,  yet  it  was  fight- 
ing naked  and  unarmed  against  an  adversary 
clothed  in  steel.  No  wonder  she  was  beaten  at 
every  point,  and  that  she  had  lain  down  her  arms, 
conquered.  She  was  without  worldly  wisdom,  and 
unconscious  that  a  woman  has  lost  some  of  her 


UNCLE  PHIL.  95 

best  natural  rights  when  a  man  can  ask  the  honor 
of  her  hand  with  the  hope  that  has  merged  into 
certainty. 

The  gentlemen  thus  arbitrarily  dismissed,  though 
favorable  specimens,  it  is  needless  to  say,  when  at 
a  safe  distance  smiled,  laughed. 

"Never  saw  such  pluck  in  a  man  in  my  life,"  said 
a  young  lieutenant,  fumbling  in  his  pocket  for  a 
cigar.  "But  perhaps  that  elderly  individual  knew 
his  grounds,  which  we  of  the  younger  sort  frequent- 
ly do  not." 

"Right  you  are,"  supplemented  a  pragmatical 
captain,  "and  your  last  remark  is  replete  with  phil- 
osophy. I  had  no  idea  how  intellectual  you  are. 
We  never  half  appreciated  you,  mon  cher." 

"It  is  my  wish,"  observed  another  one  of  these 
gentlemen,  "to  express  my  inner  views  of  the  esclan- 
dre.  I  disapprove  of  any  so  public  demonstrations ; 
they  touch  me  in  a  tender  place.  But  in  this  in- 
stance the  unusual  freshness  appealed  to  my  bet- 
ter feelings.  And  but  for  inviting  calamity — the 
fortitur  in  re  appears  to  be  untempered  by  the 
suaviton  in  modo  in  that  ancient  Romeo — I  would 
have  enacted  the  heavy  father  and  said,  'Bless  you 
my  children.'  I  have  a  feeling  somewhere  about 
me  that  I  could  have  done  it  extremely  well,  con- 
sidering my  want  of  experience  in  the  paternal 
line." 

"I  am  young,  but  I,  too,  have  my  thoughts,"  said 


96  UNCLE  PHIL. 

a  trim  subaltern.  "I  think  it  a  confounded  piece  of 
work,  look  at  it  how  you  will.  Here  is  the  hand- 
somest woman  in  California — or  anywhere  else — 
perfectly  adamant  to  us  good-looking,  agreeable, 
youngish  fellows,  gobbled  at  sight  by  that  bad-tem- 
pered, uncivil  Methuselah." 

"Our  young  one  is  hard  hit,"  suavely  commented 
a  brass-buttoned  gentleman,  whose  locks  had  taken 
on  a  tinge  of  gray. 

"Nothing  of  the  sort;  only  I  know  a  beautiful 
woman  when  I  see  one,"  replied  the  young  officer, 
assuming  a  rigidity  of  spine  denoting  defence,  if 
not  offence.  "Thank  God,  I  can  look  on  a  pretty 
woman  without  thinking  of  the  sacrament  of  matri- 
mony." 

"When  you  are  older,  my  dear  young  sir,"  re- 
sponded the  affable  senior,  "these  light  afflictions 
will  have  lost  their  gravity,  and  to  fall  out  of  love 
will  be  as  easy  as  to  fall  in.  And  always  there  is 
the  consolation,  you  are  one  eligible  bachelor  left." 

A  gentleman  who  had  hitherto  been  silent  now 
saw  an  opening,  and,  being  somewhat  of  a  theatri- 
cal turn,  raising  his  arm  in  a  declamatory  style,  he 
enunciated:  "Csesar  had  his  Brutus,  Charles  I. 
his  Cromwell,  and  Miss  Southampton  her  Smith." 

"Don't  be  a  fool,"  advised  the  young  subaltern, 
with  admirable  promptness  and  decision. 


UNCLE  PHIL.  97 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"I  WILL  BE  TRUE  TO  YOU  TILL  I  DIE." 

"If  it  were  now  to  die,  'twere  now  to  be  most  happy;    for 
I  fear  my  soul  hath  her  content  so  absolute 
That  not  another  comfort  like  to  this  succeeds  in  unknown 
fate." 

Never  in  her  life  had  Geraldine  Southampton 
been  so  silent  and  quiet  as  when  she  walked  beside 
Mr.  Smith  toward  the  small  boat  waiting  for  them 
at  the  pier. 

Smith  was  serious  by  nature,  now  he  was  abnor- 
mally so.  To  tell  the  truth,  he  was  mentally  won- 
dering, "Will  it  do?"  He  had  wrestled  with  that 
question  till  it  had  almost  assumed  the  visible 
shape  of  a  personal  enemy — a  devil  come  for  his 
torment. 

Of  his  own  feelings  he  was  quite  sure;  but  what 
of  hers?  Could  this  young  creature  in  her  heart 
of  hearts  love  him?  Or,  if  she  thought  she  did  now, 
would  she  in  the  future?  And  to  save  his  life  he 
could  not  help  wishing  the  gallant  young  Charley 
Wood  out  of  the  way.  "God  forgive  me !"  was  his 
thought ;  "but  I  do  wish  the  Indians  had  killed  him." 
With  these  reflections,  so  unsuited  to  a  lover,  they 
reached  the  pier,  and  Smith  offered  his  hand  to 


98  UNCLE  PHIL. 

assist  her  to  descend  the  steps.  Cui  bono,  when 
she  could  go  down  them  blindfold,  backward,  any- 
way. She  could  even  spring  down  with  such  ac- 
curacy of  judgment  as  to  reduce  the  danger  of  cap- 
sizing the  boat  to  a  minimum.  But  such  caprices 
would  be  looked  upon  by  Mr.  Smith  with  displeas- 
ure, and  to  resist  his  will  did  not  seem  to  her  pos- 
sible. 

When  her  foot  touched  the  boat  she  made  for 
the  tiller,  and,  sitting  down,  passed  the  ropes  about 
her  waist,  smiling. 

"I  am  going  to  steer,"  said  Mr.  Smith. 

He  did  not  mean  to  be  uncivil — far  from  it.  Only 
the  chaotic  nature  of  his  thoughts  so  disquieted  him 
that  unconsciously  his  tones  were  tinctured  with  a 
metallic  ring,  by  no  means  suited  to  the  occasion. 

Gerry  was  no  longer  smiling.  The  oarsmen  were 
Kanaka  Jack  and  Uncle  Phil.  The  latter  briskly 
came  to  the  aid  of  his  young  lady. 

"Set  still,  Miss  Gerry.  Rite  dar  is  whar  Miss 
Gerry  always  sets,"  he  said  in  tones  equally  as  de- 
cided as  Mr.  Smith's,  and  far  more  belligerent,  and 
at  the  same  time,  by  the  dexterous  use  of  his  oar, 
he  gave  such  a  lurch  to  the  boat  that  Mr.  Smith 
was  forced  to  sit  quickly  down  to  save  himself  from 
dropping  over  into  the  water. 

This  little  incident  did  not  encourage  cheerful 
conversation,  and  few  remarks  were  made  until 
they  reached  the  dismantled  McKim.  Attached  to 


UNCLE  PHIL.  99 

her  side  were  stationary  steps,  to  which  Kanaka 
Jack  promptly  bent  his  oar  to  steady  the  boat. 
Smith  stood  up  and,  placing  his  arm  on  the  lower 
step  to  form  a  sort  of  railing — only  one  person  at 
a  time  could  ascend  on  the  narrow  steps — Gerry 
hung  back,  saying,  "Despues  V." 

"Gemplemens  always  goes  up  sta'r  steps  fust, 
Dat's  de  way  dey  do  in  Wirginny,"  communicated 
Uncle  Phil ;  his  tones  expressing  displeasure  and  a 
certain  contempt. 

Mr.  Smith  acknowledged  himself  instructed,  and 
passed  up.  Gerry  followed  light  as  a  bird. 

"Is  we  got  ter  wait  here,  or  kin  we  go  back?"  in- 
quired Uncle  Phil,  making  his  meaning  clear  that 
he  did  not  wish  to  linger  with  his  small  craft  bob- 
bing uneasily  around  the  barnacle-encrusted  old 
sailer." 

"You  can  go  back,"  said  Smith,  "and  return  for 
us  when  you  see  a  signal." 

By  reason  of  Miss  Southampton's  unprece- 
dented silence,  Kanaka  Jack's  Hawaiian  soul  was 
troubled — he  considered  the  ground  on  which  she 
walked  fit  for  idolatry — and,  looking  over  his  shoul- 
der, excitedly  expressed  himself:  Missie  Gerry 
plenty  mad.  Don't  want  go  fish  wid  old  cuss." 

Uncle  Phil  also  was  pervaded  by  sentiments  of 
dissatisfaction,  and  answered  sharply.  "Shet  y'u 
mouf,  an'  keep  it  shet.  What  y'u  know  'bout  white 
folkes?" 


100  UNCLE  PHIL. 

The  decks  of  the  old  vessel  were  not  new  to  ex- 
cursionists. Others  had  been  there  before  them, 
and  it  were  easy  to  find  seats  had  they  been  inclined. 
Indeed,  two  boxes,  one  labeled  butter  crackers  and 
the  other  labeled  old  Cognac,  were  suggestively  near 
one  to  the  other ;  but  they  were  not  occupied ;  and 
Miss  Southampton,  who  had  never  known  timidity 
or  embarrassment  in  her  life,  and  now  under  the 
dominion  of  both;  and  her  bright  eyes,  always  so 
frankly,  fearlessly  uplifted,  now  looked  downward ; 
while  it  must  be  confessed,  the  attitude  of  her  com- 
panion was  uncompromisingly  cold,  and  he  seemed 
lost  in  thought. 

But  he  was  not  thinking  of  that  other  woman, 
who  had  dismissed  him  with  so  much  sang  froid, 
but  of  this  woman  here  present.  He  considered 
her  the  most  incomparable  woman  in  the  world.  A 
woman  like  the  flower  of  the  aloe,  blooming  but 
once  in  a  century. 

Most  men  recover  from  a  first  disappointment — 
yes,  from  a  first  dozen;  after  which,  such  disap- 
pointments lose  their  soul-wringing,  appetite-de- 
stroying character.  But  the  pent-up  emotions  of 
this  man's  heart  had  not  escaped  by  the  easy  chan- 
nels of  passing  loves.  They  were  yet  stored  within 
his  breast,  and  strongly  barred,  and  yet  under  his 
control ;  but,  if  liberated,  who  could  foretell  the  re- 
sult? Would  the  future  be  of  exceeding  happiness, 
the  mere  contemplation  of  which  thrilled  him  from 


UNCLE  PHIL.  101 

head  to  heel?  Or  would  the  time  come  when  he 
would  see  weariness  in  her  eyes,  and  a  shrinking 
from  his  embrace.  In  such  a  Pavia  as  that,  all 
would  be  lost.  Mr.  Smith  had  always  entertained 
a  profound  sympathy  for  Othello.  Not  so  much 
for  his  hasty  jealousy,  causing  him  to  murder  when 
he  loved,  but  that  he  should  have  been  so  supreme- 
ly unfortunate.  He  knew  himself  to  be  but  a  rough 
man,  and  he  feared  for  her  happiness  with  him. 

It  is  only  when  we  are  carrying  something  rare 
and  precious  that  the  difficulties  of  the  road  excite 
apprehension.  Would  it  not  be  better  even  now 
to  draw  back  than  to  selfishly  link  his  life  with 
hers — her  bright  life  that  had  never  known  a  care? 
He  felt  that  he  was  not  worthy  of  her.  "But  then 
who  is?"  he  asked  himself,  "and  I  can  at  least  give 
her  an  honest  man's  love — and  I  cannot  give  her 
up." 

Almost  timidly  he  glanced  at  Gerry  as  she  stood 
holding  in  her  hand  some  clustered  hooks  and  strips 
of  bright-hued  cloth.  There  seemed  an  air  of  de- 
jection about  her. 

With  deliberation  he  fastened  portions  of  red  flan- 
nel to  his  hooks,  and,  dropping  the  line  over  into 
the  water,  he  made  the  end  fast  to  the  bulwark. 
Then  going  to  Gerry  he  I : 

"Will  you  not  let  me  help  you  with  your  hooks?" 

Beaching  the  hooks  to  him,  she  said  shyly : 

"It  seems  very  ungenerous  to  catch  three  or  four 


102  UNCLE  PHIL. 

of  the  poor  creatures,  all  at  one  time,  under  the 
delusion  of  red  flannel." 

"I  am  glad,"  he  replied,  "that  you  have  scruples 
against  taking  ungenerous  advantages.  Creatures, 
other  than  mackerel,  are  often  deluded  to  their 
hurt." 

A  pause  ensued.  And  they  looked  into  each 
other's  eyes  even  as  two  souls  that  searching  one 
for  the  other  had  wandered  for  ages  in  the  blue 
empyrean,  and  having  met,  pause  for  a  glance  of 
mutual  recognition.  Alas !  if  a  passing  cloud  cast 
its  shadow,  and  they  pass  on,  never  to  meet  again. 

Something  deterrent  seemed  to  rise  up  between 
Gerry  and  her  lover.  Invisible  hands  seemed  hold- 
ing them  apart.  And  they,  too,  might  have  sepa- 
rated, each  to  take  a  different  road,  but  for  an  acci- 
dent. 

Accidents  determine  many  things.  Many  battles 
— more  than  the  greatest  generals  would  be  willing 
to  admit — have  been  lost  and  won  by  an  unforeseen 
occurrence,  fortuitous  or  adverse. 

The  old  McKim  had  not  been  left  well  anchored, 
and,  rocked  by  both  wind  and  waves,  had  so  shifted 
her  ballast  that  her  decks  inclined  to  seaward  al- 
most like  the  roof  of  a  house.  And  a  sudden  lurch 
occasioned  by  some  submarine  disturbance  threw 
Gerry  forward,  and  she  would  have  fallen  prone 
had  not  the  strong  arm  of  Smith  interposed.  There 
was  hesitation  no  longer;  he  clasped  her  in  his 


UNCLE  PHIL.  103 

arras  and  pressed  her  to  his  breast.  There  was  si- 
lence while  you  might  have  counted  ten,  then  her 
sweet  pure  lips  had  lost  their  virginity. 

"What  a  great,  awkward  girl  I  am,"  said  Gerry, 
blushing  crimson,  and  withdrawing  herself  from 
the  encircling  arms.  "I  might  have  knocked  you 
into  the  bay." 

"I  should  have  taken  you  with  me,"  he  answered 
with  the  utmost  propriety.  "Come,  my  Gerry,  let 
us  let  the  mackerel  alone.  We  will  talk."  The  cog- 
nac box  and  the  cracker  box  were  pushed  close  to- 
gether and  put  into  immediate  use.  But  Mr.  Smith 
did  not  talk ;  he  remained  strangely  silent ;  yet  not 
strangely,  for  the  hush  was  universal.  A  sultriness 
was  in  the  air,  giving  the  feeling  as  though  one 
could  hear  a  great  distance;  the  silence  wras  abso- 
lute, even  the  pelicans  were  silent. 

When  Gerry  and  Mr.  Smith  set  forth  the  sky 
was  cloudless,  and  the  bowlders  which  jutted  out 
on  one  side  of  the  bay  were  revealed  in  sharp  out- 
lines, as  if  clear-cut  with  hammer  and  chisel.  Leav- 
ing these  rocks,  the  bay  began  its  magnificent  curve 
without  a  single  indentation  of  the  low-lying  sand, 
against  which  the  gentle  waves  lapped  with  a  soft 
murmuring  pur.  Inland  lay  a  stretch  of  sand,  on 
which  pebbles  and  many-hued  shells  glint  under 
the  glare  of  the  sun  like  veritable  gems.  Farther 
back  from  the  bay  slight  elevations  arise ;  these  are 
only  foot-hills,  but  they  rise  higher  and  higher  re- 


104  UNCLE  PHIL. 

ceding  from  the  water,  until  they  become  spurs  of 
the  Coast  Kange,  over  which  a  darkness  was  slowly 
gathering. 

And  had  those  two  infatuated  souls  only  have 
looked,  they  would  have  seen  the  cloud-masses 
merge  with  the  blackness  of  night  over  the  crest  of 
the  distant  mountains,  then  to  move  rapidly  in  their 
direction,  as  if  to  bring  punishment,  prompt  and 
severe,  on  two  mortals  who  on  this  lower  earth 
dared  to  feel  absolutely  happy. 

All  unconscious  that  a  storm  of  unusual  magni- 
tude was  near,  or  of  the  passing  of  time — there  are 
no  clocks  in  paradise — Gerry  sat  with  her  head 
uncovered,  her  hat  had  fallen  off.  The  crimson 
flush  had  left  her  cheeks,  leaving  only  a  soft,  tender 
pink,  and  in  her  drooping  eyes  there  was  a  world  of 
wistful  expectancy.  Surely  this  man  of  few  words 
would  now  speak  the  words  she  had  so  longed  to 
hear  from  him,  that  he  loved  her. 

But  he  did  not  speak;  he  only  looked  upon  her 
with  an  expression,  the  intensity  of  which  she  could 
not  read. 

Still  silent,  and  as  in  absentmindedness,  he 
plucked  away  her  comb,  letting  her  hair  fall  around 
her  in  its  rich  abundance. 

Seeing  some  red  strands  in  the  dark  mass,  he 
found  voice  to  say : 

"Why,  you  just  escaped  being  a  red-haired 
lassie." 


UNCLE  PHIL.  105 

"Don't  you  like  red  hair?"  she  asked.  "And," 
again  the  crimson  tide  swept  over  neck  and  brow, 
"you  have  not  said  that  you  liked  me." 

"I  don't  like  you,"  he  answered  promptly.  "I 
thought  you  understood,  child!  But  I  love  you 
more  than  my  life,"  a  wild  joy  thrilled  through  his 
being,  the  freshness  and  richness  of  her  beauty 
filled  him  with  a  passionate  delight,  and  the  deep 
ecstacy  of  knowing  that  she  was  his,  and  his  only. 
"Oh,  Gerry!"  he  cried,  impetuously,  "do  not  be 
faithless  to  me.  I  shall  lose  all  the  world  if  I  lose 
you." 

"I  will  love  you  till  I  die — and  I  will  be  faithful 
to  you." 

"Will  you  swear  it,"  he  demanded,  almost  rough- 

iy. 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  without  a  moment's  pause. 

Impetuously  he  threw  himself  on  his  knees  and 
eagerly,  perhaps  roughly,  pulled  her  down  beside 
him. 

"Let  us,  here  and  now,  plight  our  troths  before 
high  heaven  and  the  angels — then  you  dare  not 
escape  from  me." 

She  placed  her  hand  within  his  clasp — her  great, 
brown  eyes  luminous  and  solemn — and  repeated  as 
dictated  by  him :  "I  will  be — I  am — your  true  wife 
forever  and  forever.  So  help  me  God." 

"And  God  witness,"  he  cried  aloud,  as  if  in  tri- 
umph. "I  declare  myself  your  husband.  And  let 


106  UNCLE  PHIL. 

the  flames  of  hell  be  the  portion  of  any  who 
should  seek  to  divide  us." 

He  quivered  from  the  intensity  of  his  feelings. 
When  strongly  curbed  passions  are  unbound,  set 
free,  there  comes  a  joy  that  almost  kills.  He  did 
not  recover  calmness  until  she  had  lifted  her  sweet 
young  lips  for  his  kiss.  The  seal  of  a  marriage  made 
in  heaven,  uniting  indestructibly  the  co-existing  mu- 
tual love. 

Putting  his  hand  in  his  pocket  he  brought  out  a 
bracelet;  it  was  not  a  lady's  ordinary  trinket;  but 
one  designed  by  himself  and  made  of  stout  links. 

"See,  Gerry,  here  are  my  fetters;  will  you  wear 
them?" 

She  extended  her  wrist,  and  in  truth  she  was 
fettered.  The  bracelet  was  locked  and  the  key 
thrown  into  the  deep  waters  of  the  bay. 

"Get  up,  darling,  and  sit  beside  me,"  his  tones 
were  very  tender.  "I  wish  I  were  more  worthy  of 
you.  You  must  forgive  my  roughness,  Gerry.  I 
could  not  be  content  with  only  a  mere  promise. 
You  cannot  imagine  the  depth  of  my  love  for  you, 
and  how  the  presentiment  has  plagued  me  that 
something  would  come  between  us.  But  it  is  all 
gone  now — quite  gone." 

And  twenty  years  seemed  to  have  dropped  from 
his  age,  he  seemed  so  gay.  The  fond  words  which 
had  hitherto  refused  to  come  were  very  plentiful 
now;  and  it  was  Gerry  who  was  the  silent  one. 


UNCLE  PHIL.  107 

She  answered  no  words  until,  with  a  sudden  im- 
pulse, she  passed  her  arm  around  his  neck  and,  lay- 
ing her  delicate  cheek  on  his  broad  breast,  mur- 
mured :  "I  would  like  to  die  now,  this  minute,  I 
am  so  happy." 

"Life  never  till  now  seemed  to  me  so  worth  the 
living,"  he  answers  joyously.  "I  now  have  all  I 
care  for — all  I  have  longed  for.  And,  oh,  Gerry," 
he  confesses,  shamefacedly,  "I  have  loved  you 
from  the  first  moment  I  saw  you  writing  in  the  of- 
fice of  the  collector  of  customs." 

"Did  you?"  she  cries  rapturously,  and  instantly 
believing  him.  "And  I  never  dreamed  it.  I  thought 
you  disliked  me,  and  all  the  time  I  could  not  help 
caring  for  you — and  I  felt  so  humbled,  I — oh ! — ah !" 
These  exclamations  were  caused  by  a  crash  of 
thunder,  seemingly  overhead,  and  a  vivid  flash  of 
lightning  revealing  three  or  four  pelicans,  with 
wild  screams  flying  about  and  falling  whack  on  the 
deck.  "Oh !  we  must  get  back." 

This  was  impossible,  even  had  the  small  boat  be- 
longing to  the  Custom  House  been  there,  which  it 
was  not ;  it  could  not  have  lived  a  moment  in  the 
tremendous  surf  that  rolled  between  them  and  the 
shore,  where,  through  the  lightning's  gleams,  could 
be  seen  a  group  of  figures  excitedly  gesticulating. 
Gerry  could  recognize  her  father. 

Ah !  since  the  creation,  when  Adam  and  Eve 
brought  sin  and  its  burden  of  sorrow  on  the  fair 


108  UNCLE  PHIL. 

earth,  which  we  inhabit  only  as  strangers  and  pil- 
grims, no  one  can  say,  I  am  happy,  without  speedily 
falling  into  the  hands  of  a  pursuing  Nemesis. 

With  all  of  life's  pleasures  it  is  ever  Ave!  et  vale ! 

"What  a  beast  I  have  been,"  cried  Smith,  "not 
to  have  observed  this  storm  approaching,  and  got 
you  ashore." 

"I  am  not  afraid  of  the  storm,"  answered  Gerry 
quickly.  "It  is  rather  nice  to  be  rained  upon,  hav- 
ing you  here,  all  by  myself,  to  sit  beside  me." 

Bitterly  Smith  hurled  imprecations  and  re- 
proaches upon  himself  while  he  sheltered  her  in  his 
arms  as  well  as  he  could,  and  together  they  crouched 
down  by  the  coils  of  old  cordage,  which  afforded 
some  slight  protection  from  the  winds. 

The  uproar  of  the  tempest  prevented  anything 
like  conversation,  although  Gerry  did  her  best  to 
scream  back  consolation,  in  answer  to  his  shouted 
self-accusings. 

Meanwhile  the  storm  increased.  The  decks  were 
now  nearly  covered  with  sea-fowls,  unmindful  of 
and  not  fearing  human  presence.  The  rain,  which 
had  been  in  fitful  gusts,  now  descended  in  torrents 
with  the  roar  of  a  cataract.  A  blaze  of  lightning 
so  vivid  that  it  seemed  to  wrap  the  whole  world 
in  a  sheet  of  dazzling  flame  preceded  a  crash  of 
thunder  loud  as  the  discharge  of  a  thousand  can- 
nons. The  ship,  which  had  shrieked  and  moaned 
like  a  tortured,  living  thing,  straining  at  her  fas- 


UNCLE  PHIL.  109 

teiiings,  now  sprang  forward  like  a  liberated  cap- 
tive. She  had  parted  with  her  anchors,  and  now 
in  the  teeth  of  the  tempest  was  flying  out  to  the  open 
sea. 

Smith's  face  was  white  with  horror  as  he  looked 
into  Gerry's  eyes  by  the  lightning's  gleam. 

She  only  smiled.  Her  head  was  lying  on  his 
breast.  She  was  ready  and  willing  to  die  with  him. 
She  at  least  could  emulate  the  swans,  who,  perceiv- 
ing the  great  advantage  there  is  in  death,  die  sing- 
ing with  joy. 

The  ship  flew  on,  on,  until  nearing  the  Point  at 
the  mouth  of  the  bay,  then  she  was  struck  by  coun- 
ter gales  and  hurtled  back  with  force  so  irresistible 
that  she  seemed  to  wallow  like  a  wounded  animal 
in  the  wrhite  waves,  until  beached  not  a  stone's 
throw  from  the  Custom  House. 

Smith  and  Gerry  were  soon  got  ashore,  where,  it 
is  safe  to  say,  all  the  male  inhabitants  of  Bonito 
were  assembled. 

Gerry  sprang  to  her  father.  Her  fresh  young 
voice  rang  cheerily :  "Sorry  to  have  frightened  you 
so,  papa,  but  we  couldn't  help  it.  Could  we — Mr. 
Smith?" 

Colonel  Southampton  rarely  exhibited  his  deep 
feelings,  but  his  face  convulsed  strangely  as  he 
gasped:  "Thank  God!  oh,  thank  God!  for  giving 
me  back  my  daughter." 

Not  until  her  light  feet  had  made, the  tour  of  the 


110  UNCLE  PHIL. 

assemblage,  with  a  word,  or  a  smile,  or  a  hand-shake 
for  each,  would  Gerry  go  within  doors. 

All  the  world  loved  her,  and  she  loved  all  the 
world — especially  this  night. 

"Go,  Gerry,"  said  her  father,  when  at  last  they 
had  got  away  from  the  crowd  and  were  safely 
housed ;  "get  off  your  wet  clothes.  Uncle  Phil  will 
take  you  something  warm.  And  you,  too,  Paul,  had 
better  get  into  dry  rigging." 

"Well,  good  night,  papa,"  said  Gerry,  turning 
her  sparkling  face  toward  him.  "And,  to  you,  too, 
good  night — Paul." 

The  face  of  each  man  wore  the  same,  yet  not  the 
same,  expression  of  passionate  love,  as  they  watched 
her  leaving  the  room  with  springing  footsteps. 

Smith  shook  hands  with  Colonel  Southampton 
as  he  bade  him  good-night,  adding :  "Robert,  I  wish 
to  have  some  conversation  with  you  to-morrow — to 
ask  you  to  give  me  Gerry." 


UNCLE  PHIL.  HI 


CHAPTER  IX. 

i 

TROUBLED  WATERS. 

"Ask  God  for  temperance,  that's  the  appliance 
Only  which  your  disease  requires." 

Gerry  had  scarcely  removed  her  dripping  gar- 
ments and  clad  herself  in  a  warm  dressing  robe 
when  she  heard  Uncle  Phil's  voice  at  the  door. 

"Open  de  do',  Miss  Gerry,  an'  let  me  in — 'tain't 
no  body  'tall,  'ceptin'  y'u  Uncle  Phil.  An'  I  goter 
obsarvation  ter  make.  Marse  Eobert,"  he  con- 
tinued, after  the  door  had  been  opened  for  him,  "he 
tole  me  ter  prepa'r  some  b'ilin'  hot  flip,  an'  tote  it 
inter  y'u  right  here.  Wall,  fustly,  I — but  good 
Lordy,  honey,  what  is  de  wale  ob  me  tellin'  ter  y'u 
howter  make  flip?  Howadzackly,  arter  I  had  done 
made  de  flip  an'  I  was  totin'  it  ter  y'u  right  erlong 
down  de  corridy  whar,  I  seed  Marse  Challey  Wood 
ercomin,'  an'  er  wavin'  'ter  me.  Inco'se  I  hadter  stop 
an'  ax  what  in  de  created  wurld  he  wanted  ter  con- 
varse  'bout  dis  time  ernight.  WTall,  Miss  Gerry,  y'u 
knows  y'use'f  dat  I  neber  wus  no  great  han'  ter  tell 
er  long  story.  An'  he  'splained,  an'  de  marter  is 
dess  dis,  dem  fetched  Inguns  is  riz,  an'  is  up  ter  dey 
debilment  agin' ;  quincequoncially,  de  solger  mans  is 
ordered  out  arter  dem  quick ;  an'  dey  is  fixin'  as  hard 


112  UNCLE  PHIL. 

as  dey  kin  ter  absquatulate  befo'  daybroke.  An' 
dat  wus  what  Marse  Challey  Wood  wus  er  wantin' 
erlong  ob  me,  ter  resist  on  y'u  ercomin'  inter  de 
drawin'  room,  whar  he  is  erwatin'  dis  blessed  minit 
ter  ax  y'u  howdy  befo'  he  goes  arter  dem  blamed 
Inguns.  An',  Miss  Gerry,  I  tell  it  ter  y'u  fer  a 
fac',  he  looked  dat  peaked  an'  mizzible — dose  In 
guns  is  powerful  ambitious  erbout  er  white  man's 
ha'r — dat  I  'wised  him  ter  keep  ter  de  off  ob  ertree, 
de  bigger  de  better.  An'  ter  raise  his  sperits  I  gin 
him  de  flip.  He  drinked  it  down,  an'  before  de 
Lord,  Miss  Gerry,  in  all  my  borned  days  I  neber  seed 
flip  do  no  body  so  little  good.  But  he  set  himse'f 
down  on  er  cheer,  an'  dars  whar  he  is  now — ef  he 
ain't  gone  erway  no  whar." 

He  had  not  gone  anywhere,  and  there  is  where 
Gerry  found  him  a  few  moments  later,  after  a  hur- 
ried arrangement  of  her  dress. 

It  was  quite  evident  that  the  flip  had  done  its 
work  ill,  and  had  not  raised  his  spirits.  His  face 
was  drawn  and  almost  ghastly;  yet  Gerry  in  the 
exuberance  of  her  happiness  failed  to  see  it  as  he 
rose  to  meet  her. 

With  outstretched  hands  she  advanced  swiftly, 
with  sparkling  eyes,  and  every  feature  of  her  beau- 
tiful face  glorified  by  the  mighty  power  of  Love's 
magical  influence.  She  spoke  quickly : 

"Congratulate  me,  Charley.  I  am  just  the  hap- 
piest girl  in  all  the  world.  Don't  you  wish  me 


UNCLE  PHIL.  113 

joy?"  she  asked  inpatiently,  seeing  that  he  hesi- 
tated. 

This  young  fellow  was  suffering  tortures.  He 
had  stood  for  hours  on  the  drenched  beach,  not 
heeding  the  fury  of  the  tempest,  and  a  prey  to  hor- 
rible anxiety  while  Gerry  was  in  danger.  There 
had  been  one  blissful  moment  when  her  safety  was 
assured.  But  the  sight  of  her  glowing  face  coupled 
with  the  arrogant  satisfaction  of  "that  man  Smith," 
whose  countenance  wore  the  pleasing  assurance  of 
a  man  on  top  and  certain  of  his  ability  to  stay 
there,  smote  him  to  the  heart,  sharp  as  a  knife. 

Henceforth  the  world,  for  him,  was  changed.  The 
one  object  he  so  coveted  was  lost  to  him,  utterly,  ir- 
retrievably. 

The  sudden  call  to  arms  was  very  welcome,  and 
he  hoped,  he  prayed  that  his  heart — aching  with 
such  sharp  pain  as  to  make  him,  strong  man  that 
he  was,  shudder — would  be  the  billet  for  the  first 
hostile  bullet.  But  once  again  he  must  see  her. 
Once  again  he  must  look  on  her  sweet  face.  "Oh, 
God !"  he  moaned,  "what  are  men  made  for  to  feel 
such  anguish;  to  be  so  besotted  about  one  woman?" 
There  were  thousands  and  thousands  of  other  wom- 
en in  the  world,  but  he  wanted  only  this  one. 

"Oh!    sweeter  far  than  wealth,  than  fame,  than  all, 
Is  first  and  passionate  love:    it  stands  alone." 

He  had  seen  eyes  perhaps  as  bright,  faces  per- 
haps as  fair,  but  about  this  girl  there  was  some  en- 


114  UNCLE  PHIL. 

chantment  more  than  her  beauty  by  which  all  men 
were  bewitched. 

Love  is  a  hardy  plant ;  it  can  exist  on  very  little 
aliment,  or  none  at  all.  And  like  Jonah's  gourd  it 
can  spring  up  to  maturity,  bearing  flowers  and 
fruits  in  a  single  night.  And  the  unreasoning  hope 
which,  in  buoyant  youth,  refuses  to  be  extinguished 
had  found  a  resting  place  in  the  bosom  of  this  young 
officer.  But  now  he  felt  that  between  himself  and 
Gerry  had  come  a  material,  a  determinate  change ; 
that  the  right  was  no  longer  his  to  say  to  the  woman 
of  his  choice  that  he  loved  her. 

Such  an  avowal  he  now  felt  would  be  an  in,sult  to 
the  lady  he  most  delighted  to  honor. 

Love  is  a  familia;    love  is  a  devil; 

There  is  no  evil  angel  but  love. 

Yet  Samson  was  so  tempted,  and 

He  had  .an  excellent  strength. 

Yet  was  Solomon  so  seduced,  and 

He  had  a  very  good  wit. 

Cupid's  shaft  is  too  strong  for  Hercules'  club, 

And  therefore  too  much  odds  for  a  Spaniard's  rapier." 

Well,  all  that  was  left  him  was  to  suffer  and 
die.  Yet  from  her  he  would  avert  the  most  insig- 
nificant pang. 

"Yes,  Miss  Gerry,  .  do  wish  you  joy.  God  Al- 
mighty knows  I  do." 

His  very  voice  was  changed,  its  clear  tone  was 
gone — and  his  words  dropped  slowly,  one  by  one, 


UNCLE  PHIL.  115 

with  a  hard  metallic  ring,  which  would  have  grated 
painfully  on  ears  less  happy  than  those  of  the  girl 
who  stood  so  smilingly  before  him. 

"Yes,  Charley,"  said  she,  sinking  upon  a  chair 
and  motioning  him  to  another,  "Mr.  Smith  does 
like  me — he  has  told  me  so." 

Poor  Charley  was  very  magnanimous,  but  he  was 
human,  and  he  could  not  refrain  from  the  pbserva- 
tion : 

"Mr.  Smith !    Why,  he  is  as  old  as  your  father." 

"I  like  old  men,"  Gerry  replied,  with  beaming 
cheerfulness. 

"He  will  tyrannize  over  you,"  Charley  ventured 
to  say. 

"Oh,  yes !  he  will  tyrannize  over  me,"  assented  the 
smiling  Gerry. 

"He  does  not  love  you  half  well  enough,"  pro- 
tested the  young  man. 

Gerry's  face  clouded,  as  she  honestly  admitted 
her  opinion  that  if  the  affections  of  herself  and  of 
her  betrothed  were  weighed  in  the  balance  her  side 
would  be  the  heaviest.  "But,"  she  added,  hopefully, 
her  face  clearing,  "as  I  shall  conform  to  all  his 
wishes — he  is  so  superior,  not  at  all  young  and  with- 
out discretion — I  shall,  no  doubt,  become  less  ob- 
jectionable, and  in  time  the  warmth  of  his  feelings 
toward  me  will  improve.  But  it  is  impossible  that 
he  can  ever  care  for  me  as  I  care  for  him." 

Brevet-Captain  Wood  looked  at  Miss  Southamp- 


116  UNCLE  PHIL. 

ton  in  sheer  wonder.  Prompt  as  he  always  had 
been  to  perceive  and  admire  her  good  qualities  he 
had  not  up  to  this  moment  suspected  humility  to 
be  among  the  number.  And  weakness  did  not  be- 
long to  her  temperament. 

"But  it  all  comes,"  he  thought,  bitterly,  "of  her 
unaccountable  infatuation  for  that  strange  dark 
man."  And  how  it  could  have  come  about  perplexed 
his  honest  mind,  and  caused  misgivings  about  the 
possible  administration  of  occult  powTders — there 
might  be  such  things,  he  reasoned;  the  secrets  of 
the  profound  alchemist  are  terrible.  Also  he  thought 
of  the  theory  announced  by  Baron  Reichanback,  and 
Herschel,  and  Muller,  of  the  mind-controlling-mind 
power.  Perhaps  she  was  hypnotized!  If  so,  the 
only  help  could  come  from  God.  He  was  power- 
less; and  he  could  not  even  remain  near  to  assist 
her  should  the  occasion  arise  when  the  services  of 
a  faithful  heart  and  a  strong  hand  might  be  of  use 
to  her.  Obedience  is  the  soldier's  creed,  and  he 
must  go  where  ordered.  The  farewell  wrench  must 
come,  and  why  prolong  the  interview? 

Bravely  the  gallant  young  fellow  faced  the. or- 
deal. He  rose  with  such  calmness  as  he  could  com- 
mand, and  said: 

"I  will  not  detain  you  longer,  Miss  Gerry,  and 
will  now  say  good-night — and  good-bye." 

He  took  her  hands  within  his  own  as  they  walked 
together  to  the  door,  and,  pausing  at  the  thresh- 


UNCLE  PHIL.  117 

old,  he  pressed  them  gently  for  a  moment,  and 
with  drooping  head  he  almost  whispered :  "May  I 
not — for  just  once — call  you  Gerry?" 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  tender  inflexion 
he  gave  to  her  loved  name.  Then  he  walked  rapidly 
away,  carrying  the  heaviest  burden  a  human  being 
can  bear — a  heart  wounded  nigh  unto  death. 

"Poor  boy,"  murmured  Gerry,  looking  after  him 
with  solicitude,  "I  do  hope  he  may  come  to  no  harm 
from  the  Indians.  I  am  very  fond  of  him — he  is  al- 
most like  South  or  Fred." 

This  farewell  scene  was  not  without  a  witness. 
Mr.  Hamilton  had,  as  was  very  frequent,  been 
"reading  to  Mrs.  Southampton,"  and  was  on  the 
corridor — was  it  by  chance?  The  expression  on 
his  face  was  very  near  satanic,  as  he  muttered: 
"By  Jove !  it  looks  as  if  he  had  kissed  her." 

The  storm  was  quite  over,  and  the  moon  well  up, 
showing  her  round  disc,  and  illuminating  objects 
with  distinctness. 

The  waters  of  the  bay  were  still  troubled,  and 
rushed  shoreward  with  a  seething,  hissing  sound; 
while  out  in  the  offing  could  still  be  heard  the  loud 
booming  of  the  wicked  waves.  Mr.  Smith's  mind 
was  on  none  of  this  as  he  calmly  promenaded  the 
beach  under  the  conviction  that  he  could  now  safely 
indulge  in  pleasurable  anticipations  of  his  assured 
happiness. 

Past  infelicities  were    forgotten,    or    at    least 


118  tiNCLE  PHIL. 

seemed  to  belong  to  the  petites  mise'res  de  la  vie 
humaine.  He  was  so  perfectly,  so  absolutely  happy. 
In  fancy  he  could  still  feel  Gerry's  arms  clinging 
about  his  neck.  And  in  fancy  kiss  again  the  sweet, 
pure  lips. 

Thus  absorbed  in  his  meditations,  he  did  not  see 
Mr.  Hamilton  approach,  and  was  startled  to  find 
some  one  at  his  side  commenting  on  the  beauty  of 
the  night  after  so  rough  a  storm.  "Although,"  he 
laughed  disagreeably,  "there  is  rather  too  much 
light  for  the  adieux  of  lovers,  such  as  I,  by  the 
merest  chance,  witnessed  over  there,"  he  nodded 
toward  the  Custom  House. 

Smith,  wishing  to  get  rid  of  the  person,  and  not 
being  at  any  time  what  could  be  called  a  suave  gen- 
tleman, said  roughly: 

"What  in  h — 1  are  you  talking  about?" 

"Oh!  nothing,"  answered  Hamilton  lightly,  "if 
it  comes  your  way.  But  I  saw  Captain  Wood  and 
Miss  Southampton  execute  a  very  tender  parting — 
he  is  under  marching  orders  you  know." 

Jealousy !  oh,  what  a  fiend  it  is !  A  remorseless, 
cruel  fiend,  striking  where  it  loves;  and,  like  the 
base  Judean,  throwing  a  pearl  away  richer  than  all 
his  tribe. 

A  deadly  pallor  spread  over  Smith's  face,  his  fore- 
head furrowed  with  passion,  as  he  faced  round,  lay- 
ing a  heavy  hand  on  Hamilton's  shoulder,  and  his 
voice  changed  into  a  growl  of  savage  menace. 


UNCLE  PHIL.  119 

"Tell  me  the  truth.  The  plain  truth.  You  had 
better  trifle  with  the  devil." 

Internally  Mr.  Hamilton  was  amused  by  the  out- 
burst, but  he  answered,  rather  deprecatingly : 

"I  really  beg  pardon  if  I  have  been  indiscreet — I 
had  no  idea  of  making  trouble.  But  if  you  want  the 
truth,  there  is  not  a  great  deal  that  I  can  tell.  I 
only  saw  them  a  moment  as  they  stood  together  out- 
side yonder  door,  and  I  saw  Captain  Wood  clasp 
Miss  Southampton's  hands  to  his  bosom,  stoop  over 
— he  is  a  long-limbed  fellow — and  kiss  her." 

With  a  fierce  oath,  Smith  thrust  Hamilton  from 
him,  and  burst  away,  carried  headlong  by  the  im- 
pulse to  seek  the  young  officer  and  to  kill  him.  But 
he  checked  himself  suddenly ;  his  anger  had  quickly 
given  place  to  loathing.  "What  do  I  want  with  his 
blood?  He  is  welcome  to  her — she  is  not  worth  hav- 
ing. Merciful  Heavens !  are  all  women  base?"  He 
feared  they  were;  but  he  felt  utterly  undone  as  he 
recommenced  his  walk  by  the  fretful  tide  uttering 
frightful  blasphemies.  Demons  had  taken  posses- 
sion, and  hours  passed  before  he  became  conscious 
of  his  extravagant  actions.  He  took  off  his  hat,  and 
the  cool,  dank  sea  air  soothed  his  hot  brain,  and 
he  became  somewhat  calm.  He  replaced  his  hat, 
and,  putting  UB  his  hands,  he  felt  that  his  cheeks 
were  damp.  "Tears!"  he  said,  "is  it  possible?" 
Great  sobs  now  came  from  his  heaving  breast,  and 


120  UNCLE  PHIL. 

the  salt  tears  brought  the  smart  to  his  bronzed 
face. 

Kestlessly  he  walked  on,  plunged  in  gloomy  med- 
itations, calculating  all  probable  and  improbable 
chances. 

His  better  self  told  him  that  he  had  condemned 
Gerry  unheard,  and  perhaps  wrongly,  because  of 
falsehoods  told  by  an  impertinent  meddler.  A  flush 
of  shame  swept  over  his  face  as  he  said :  "I  am  not 
longsuffering,  yet  I  listened  to  hear  Gerry  lightly 
spoken  of,  and  did  not  resent  it.  But  I  did  doubt 
her,  and  it  is  only  just  that  I  should  tell  her  all. 
And  if  she  says  'not  guilty'  I  will  believe  her 
against  the  world.  And  then  if  she  will  put  her 
hand  in  mine  and  trust  to  me,  what  man  born  of 
woman  shall  come  between  us?"  He  walked  on 
till  the  stars  faded,  and  the  gray  light  across  the 
heaving  waters  told  him  a  new  day  was  breaking, 
without  having  lain  down  to  rest. 


UNCLE  PHIL.  121 


CHAPTER  X. 

AN  OMEN. 

"Dear  as  you  are,  if  Jove  his  arm  extend, 
I  can  but  grieve,  unable  to  defend." 

There  were  other  eyes  than  those  of  Mr.  Smith's 
that  had  outwatched  the  stars.  The  morning  sun 
found  Miss  Southampton  still  up,  never  having  re- 
tired to  rest. 

She  was  too  happy  to  sleep,  and  passed  the  hours, 
like  the  hapless  Juliet,  in  chiding  the  tedium  of 
the  time  which  must  elapse  before  she  could  with 
propriety  see  her  Romeo. 

The  door  opened;  it  was  to  admit  Uncle  Phil, 
carrying  a  small  waiter. 

"Here,  Miss  Gerry,  I  fetched  y'u  dis  coffee.  Drink 
it  down  warm,  chile — it's  comfortin'  ter  de  innerds 
on  er  yearly  mornin'.  An'  'sides" — he  stopped  in 
embarrassment.  It  is  not  every  ambassador  that  is 
charged  with  congratulations.  He  had  a  disagree- 
able message  to  deliver;  and  to  exonerate  himself 
from  any  odium  attaching  to  it  he  began  recalling 
to  her  remembrance  divers  circumstances  calculated 
to  evince  the  affectionate  nature  of  his  feelings  for 
her — "Miss  Gerry,  dus  y'u,  or  dus  y'u  not  mind, 
in  Wirginny,  when  y'u  wus  little,  'bout  all  dem 
bird  aigs  I  fotched  y'u — an'  when  y'u  wanted  ter 


122  UNCLE  PHIL. 

go  out  inter  de  rain,  which  wus  onproper,  an'  I  re- 
posed y'u,  y'u  hollered,  I  ain't  sho'  dat  y'u  dident 
kick,  tell  y'u  reforced  me  ter  tote  y'u  out  onter  niy 
sho'l'er,  an'  I  hilt  er  umereller  ower  y'u — an'  eber 
sense  Marse  Robert  he  fotched  us  all  here  ter  Kali- 
forny,  ain't  I  always  been  good  an'  kine  ter  vou?" 

"Indeed  I  have  not  forgotten  one  bit  of  it  all, 
Uncle  Phil.  You  are  just  worth  your  weight  in 
gold." 

"Inkose,  Miss  Gerry,"  he  replied,  in  a  mortified 
tone,  "ef  I  wus  ter  be  sot  up  oner  block  ter  be  sole 
I  wouldn't  fotch  no  little  price  like  er  low-down 
common  nigger." 

"Oh,  dear  Uncle  Phil,"  said  Gerry,  "I  did  not 
mean  anything  of  that  sort — what  a  ridiculous 
idea !  I  meant  to  say  how  much  attached  to  you  I 
am.  Don't  you  know  it?" 

"Yes,  chile,  I  dus  know  it,"  responded  Uncle  Phil 
very  solemnly,  "an'  whateber  Marse  Robert  an'  de 
good  Lord  may  see  fitten  ter  do  wid  ole  Phil,  I  will 
always  be  thankful  fer  two  things,  dat  I  was  borned 
in  Wirginny,  an'  wid  de  Southamptons.  But,  Miss 
Gerry,  what  I  fust  sot  out  ter  norrate  ter  y'u,  wus 
ter  reliber  er  message  from  Miss  Frawnces.  She's 
wantin',  mighty  bad,  so  she  say,  ter  see  y'u  up  in 
her  repartment  immegiately  ef  not  sooner.  But, 
Miss  Gerry,  I  wouldn't  be  in  no  powerful  hurry 
'bout  it.  An'  I  wouldn't  pay  no  'tention  ter  her 
remarks  'tall.  Me  an  Marse  Robert  don't." 


UNCLE  PHIL.  123 

Gerry  laughed  aloud.  What  was  there  in  Mrs. 
Southampton,  or  in  any  one,  to  dread  on  this  jocund 
morning?  Nothing  could  annoy  her.  She  was 
proof  against  all  the  arrows  and  slings  of  the  most 
outrageous  fortune.  She  could  even  defy  fate.  But 
what  did  this  young  girl  know  about  adverse  fate, 
even  by  hearsay?  From  her  cradle  to  the  present 
moment  she  had  been  surrounded  by  those  whose 
best  pleasure  it  had  been  to  strew  her  pathway  with 
flowers,  and  to  screen  from  her  even  an  unpleasant 
sight. 

"Well,  Uncle  Phil,"  was  her  smiling  answer,  "if 
Mrs.  Southampton  wishes  to  see  me,  I'll  make  her 
a  visit.  It  is  not  often  she  desires  my  presence. 
But  what  does  she  want?" 

"I  carnt  tell  y'u,  Miss  Gerry.  She  fergot  ter  tell 
me,  an'  I  fergot  ter  ax  her.  But  she  is  in  er  weawin- 
way  dis  mornin',  fer  er  fac'.  I  dess  neber  seed  her 
so  upsot.  An'  ef  I  was  y'u,  chile,  I  wouldn't  be  in 
no  hurry  'bout  gwien — I  wouldn't  keer  ef  I  didn't 
go  'tall.  Miss  Frawnces  is  po'ly  in  health,  but  she 
dess  kin  discomboberate  er  rigiment  ob  solger-mans 
when  she  sots  her  mine  dat  way." 

"'Oh,  if  the  interview  promises  to  be  breezy,"  said 
Gerry,  lightly,  "I  had  better  have  it  over." 

With  a  gay  laugh,  she  opened  the  door,  and  wras 
just  stepping  out,  when  the  pet  rabbit  of  some  child 
living  near,  ran  across  the  corridor. 


124  UNCLE  PHIL. 

She  started  back,  turning  pale. 

Why  is  it  so  ominous,  that  a  harmless  little  rab- 
bit crossing  one's  path  should  cause  alarm? 

It  is  said  that  the  great  Caesar  almost  turned 
back  from  that  last  visit  to  the  Koman  senate  be- 
cause one  of  these  fateful  creatures  crossed  his 
path. 

"Come  back,  Miss  Gerry !  Come  back !"  screamed 
Uncle  Phil,  catching  her  dress.  "Come  right  back 
inter  y'u  repartment,  an'  stay  dar  tell  de  sun  goes 
down." 

To  admit  the  truth,  Gerry  was  herself  sufficiently 
alarmed.  She  had  been  well  instructed  by  her 
black  nurses,  and  later  by  Uncle  Phil,  about  the 
dire  calamities  presaged  by  this  portent;  only  to 
be  evaded  by  an  instantaneous  and  a  backward  re- 
treat behind  the  door  last  passed,  and  remaining 
rearward  its  lintel  until  the  shadows  of  evening  re- 
lieved the  embargo. 

But  if  she  remained  shut  up  in  her  room  how 
would  she  see  Mr.  Smith;  and  how  would  Mr. 
Smith  see  her?  And  to  pass  the  day  without  seeing 
him  was  simply  an  impossibility.  She  must  see 
him!  But  how  she  did  wish  that  wretched  little 
animal  had  kept  away  from  the  corridor. 

"This  is  the  air-drawn  dagger" 

which  no  power  of  ratiocination  can  strike  down — 
a  painted  fear  that  sometimes  confronts  the  stout- 
est hearts  and  weakens  the  strongest  nerves. 


UNCLE  PHIL.  125 

Our  poor  Gerry  was  sorely  troubled.  The  new 
feeling  so  strange  to  one  of  her  temperament  had 
dominated  her  existence  till  all  power  of  volition 
was  lost — free  agency  gone.  That  he  wras  not  worth 
the  affection  so  freely  given,  so  ungrudgingly  sur- 
rendered, did  not  affect  the  matter  at  all.  It  is  the 
nature  of  some  women,  and  not  the  worst  of  them, 
to  love  with  the  touching  devotion  of  a  beaten  dog. 

That  Mr.  Smith  would  wish  to  see  her  she  thought 
certain — and  his  was  the  right  to  command.  And 
to  see  him,  to  use  a  homely  phrase,  fire  nor  water 
could  keep  her  back ;  but  she  shuddered  at  the  im- 
pediment reared  by  the  little  rabbit,  and  it  was  only 
in  half-hearted  tones  that  she  commanded: 

"Let  me  go,  Uncle  Phil !  I  cannot  imprison  my- 
self for  an  old,  and  perhaps  foolish,  superstition — 
let  me  go,  I  say." 

"Oh,  Miss  Gerry,  chile,"  he  implored,  his  face 
ashen,  "be  'wised  by  de  ole  Uncle  Phil.  He  knows 
better  den  y'u  dus,  my  po'  little,  precious  young 
mistis.  'Tain't  no  light  marter  dat  critter  wus  sont 
ter  y'u  in  warnin',  but  heart-breakin'  'flictions. 
Don't  go  agin  ole  Uncle  Phil  dis  time,  chile.  Step 
backerds  inter  y'u  repartment,  my  larm" — in  the 
intensity  of  his  feelings  he  threw  himself  across 
the  doorway — "Ef  y'u  go,  y'u  will  have  ter  tromple 
on  my  body !" 

Gerry  paused  a  moment — as  one  will  to  collect 
and  organize  the  energies  before  facing  an  impend- 


126  UNCLE  PHIL. 

ing  danger — then  she  said,  brightly  as  she  could, 
"Why  it  is  only  a  little  jump,"  and  sprang  over 
him. 

He  rose  to  follow,  with  every  limb  shaking. 

"Wall,  ef  y'u  will  dar'  it,  I'll  dar'  it  too.  An' 
what  is  wisited  on  y'u  will  be  wisited  on  me  too. 
O  Lord!"  he  prayed  aloud,  creeping  rather  than 
walking  after  her,  his  face  drawn  into  a  thousand 
wrinkles  and  working  convulsively,  "O  Lord, 
spar'  dat  chile.  Take  it  all  out  on  ole  Phil — he's  er 
no-'count  nigger,  an'  't  wel  sarve  him  right — but 
spar'  dat  chile !  She  wus  borned  in  Wirginny,  an' 
she  is  one  ob  de  Southamptons."  He  stopped  short, 
and,  fairly  yelling,  caught  her  skirts,  detaining  her 
with  all  his  strength.  The  restless  rabbit  had  again 
crossed  the  corridor. 

"Go  back,  chile !  go  back.  Ef  y'u  go  back  now  y'u 
mought  'scape  some  ob  it !  Oh,  go  back,  Miss  Gerry, 
honey,  please  go  back." 

"Let  go  my  dress,  Uncle  Phil,"  she  said  with 
frightened  impatience. 

"Oh,  chile !"  moaned  the  old  man,  "I  carat  let  y'u 
go — y'u  po'  young  babby!  Y'u  dat  neber  was  con- 
traried  in  y'u  life — y'u  dess  don't  know  what  y'u  is 
doin' !  Y'u  is  f otchin'  on  sech  trubble  as  never  wus. 
Oh,  go  back,  my  putty,  darlin'  young  mistis." 

The  old  man's  agony  was  so  extreme  that  it  was 
impossible  to  look  on  him  unmoved,  and  willingly 
Gerry  would  have  passed  the  day  in  a  dungeon  to 


UNCLE  PHIL.  127 

afford  him  relief.  She  would  even  have  denied  her- 
self the  luxury  of  seeing  her  fiance';  but  it  did 
not  occur  to  her  that  it  would  be  possible  for  him 
to  be  disappointed.  And  there  was  the  interview 
with  Mrs.  Southampton,  which  she  must  hurry 
through,  so  as  not  to  keep  the  mogul  waiting.  Very 
gently  she  extricated  her  skirts,  saying,  "Please 
don't  worry  so,  Uncle  Phil,"  and  she  added  ingenu- 
ously, "It  was  a  tame  rabbit,  and  perhaps  it  won't 
count.  You  know  yourself,  there  must  be  a  differ- 
ence." 

Uncle  Phil  shook  his  head. 

"Y'u  carnt  'pose  on  me,  Miss  Gerry.  I  telled  y'u 
befo',  an'  I  tells  y'u  agin,  dat  critter  warn't  sont  fer 
nuthin'."  He  said  no  more,  but  loyally  followed 
her,  his  old  eyes  filling  with  tears.  Come  weal, 
come  woe,  he  was  not  only  ready  and  willing  to  bear 
his  part,  but  ready  and  willing  to  bear  the  burden  of 
it  all.  "But  it's  bitter,  black  trubble  dat's  comin'," 
he  said,  and  in  the  spirit  of  the  noble  Roman  who 
covered  his  face  that  he  might  die  decently :  "I'll  put 
on  my  Sunday  clothes  an'  be  prepared." 


128  UNCLE  PHIL. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  WATERS  OF  MARAH. 

"What  is  it  to  be  false?    To  lie  in  watch  there,  and  to 
Think  on  him?    To  weep  'twixt  clock  and  clock?" 

There  are  some  men  who,  by  a  strained  idea  of 
justice,  when  they  find  the  ardor  of  their  affections 
refrigerating  toward  a  lawful  spouse,  seek  to  make 
all  the  compensations  purchasable.  If  they  cannot 
render  unto  CaBsar  such  things  as  Caesar  claims, 
they  hope  to  make  it  up  in  money's  worth. 

Mrs.  Southampton's  own  parlor  was  most  luxuri- 
ous; scattered  around  in  reckless  profusion  were 
bric-a-brac;  cost  no  object.  The  silken  couch  on 
which  she  reclined  was  sufficiently  magnificent  for 
an  Oriental  princess;  and  her  rich  costume  negli- 
gente  with  its  heavy  embroideries  would  have  put 
bread  into  the  mouths  of  a  poor  man's  family  for  a 
whole  year.  But  ill-health  and  a  repining  disposi- 
tion had  scarcely  left  a  trace  of  the  soft  beauty,  so 
captivating  in  her  girlhood. 

There  are  invalids  who,  accepting  the  dispensa- 
tion coming  from  a  mysterious  but  beneficent  Power 
as  the  discipline  required  to  fit  them  for  the  illimi- 
table and  glorious  hereafter,  bear  their  pains  and 


UNCLE  PHIL.  129 

deprivations  in  such  a  beautiful  spirit  of  meek  trust 
that  it  is  a  privilege  to  come  into  their  presence. 

But,  per  contra,  there  are  other  invalids,  and  it 
is  sad  to  reflect,  how  completely  wretched  are  their 
lives,  and  that  no  human  love  can  survive  under 
their  peevish  exactions. 

After  a  time  of  patient  forbearance,  Colonel 
Southampton  came  to  the  conclusion  that  his  wife's 
"fads"  were  hopelessly  chronic,  and  that  it  was  her 
intention  never  to  part  with  them.  The  outlook 
for  himself  was  not  pleasant — all  comradeship  be- 
tween husband  and  wife  was  at  an  end ;  but  at  least 
he  could  supply  her  material  wants,  real  and  im- 
aginary, which  he  did  to  the  fullest  extent.  Then, 
naturally,  he  turned  to  his  daughter  for  an  object 
to  love  and  to  make  happy.  And  to  spare  her  young 
life  from  this  domestic  shadow  his  authority  had 
been  arbitrarily  used.  He  stated  distinctly  that  he 
"would  not  have  Gerry  nagged  at;"  so  her  inter- 
course with  her  stepmother  had  been  confined  to 
brief  and  infrequent  calls. 

The  robust  health  of  the  young  girl  Mrs.  South- 
ampton considered  to  be  the  chiefest  of  her  own 
many  trials.  While  she,  as  she  frequently  averred, 
never  knew  what  it  was  to  be  free  from  pain,  Geral- 
dine  never  had  so  much  as  a  headache,  and  never 
out  of  sorts,  and  always  gay,  with  no  more  reflection 
than  a  bird.  And  then  every  one  spoiled  her  to  the 
degree  that  she  was  perfectly  unbearable.  And 


130  UNCLE  PHIL. 

what  there  was  to  admire  in  that  tomboy  she  really 
could  not  see.  There  was  not  an  atom  of  the  deli- 
cate languor  about  her  which  should  appeal  so 
irresistibly  to  the  stronger  and  coarser  sex,  who  had 
no  need  for  women  other  than  to  love  and  to  pet. 
There  was  the  key  of  her  animosity  toward  her  step- 
daughter, whom  she  hated  with  the  vindictive  fury 
of  a  weak  nature  secretly  accusing  her  of  having 
robbed  herself  of  Colonel  Southampton's  affections. 
And  if  she  prayed  at  all  it  was  for  vengeance.  If 
she  could  only  hear  her  husband  speak  harshly  to 
this  pampered  favorite — which  she  instinctively 
knew  would  be  torture  in  the  highest  degree  to 
Geraldine — that  would  be  some  compensation  for 
the  years  of  her  own  unloved  life. 

As  Gerry  began  to  ascend  the  flight  of  steps  lead- 
ing to  Mrs.  Southampton's  apartments  she  felt 
growing  upon  her  a  distressing  sense  of  anxious  ap- 
prehension. She  ascribed  it  to  the  uncanny  ren- 
contre on  the  corridor,  mentally  saying,  "I  am 
almost  as  superstitious  as  Uncle  Phil — of  course  it 
is  nonsense;  but  what  could  that  horrid  little  creat- 
ure mean  by  crossing  my  path — twice?" 

It  was  no  new  thing  to  regard  a  visit  to  Mrs. 
Southampton  as  a  bad  quarter-of-an-hour,  and  hith- 
erto she  had  taken  it  placidly.  But  on  this  day  of 
days,  when  her  heart  should  have  been  as  light  as 
a  leai  on  a  tree,  there  seemed  something  inimical 
in  the  air — a  chill  sensation — a  hostile  influence 


UNCLE  PHIL.  131 

which  she  could  not  reason  away.  She  told  herself 
that  it  "must  be  purely  superficial  and  transitory, 
and  because  of  Uncle  Phil  being  so  foolish."  Then, 
to  counteract  these  unpleasant  emotions,  she 
thought  of  Smith.  A  crimson  flush  of  pleasure,  not 
of  shame,  suffused  her  face.  She  felt  that  they  were 
now  indestructibly  united — that  the  sanction  of 
book,  candle  and  bell  was  only  a  formula  soon  to  fol- 
low— that  she  must  hurry  through  this  distasteful 
interview,  then  her  father  should  receive  her  confi- 
dence. Already,  she  felt  sure,  Paul  Smith  had 
given  his. 

The  happy  smile  playing  over  her  rosy  lips  died 
away  as  she  reached  the  head  of  the  stairs  and  stood 
before  the  closed  door.  She  gazed  at  it  blankly  with 
a  vehement  impulse  to  flee,  feeling  that  some 
strange  danger  to  her  lay  within,  and  separated 
from  her  by  a  thin  partition.  Yet  in  what  way 
could  that  poor  creature  injure  her?  Ashamed  of 
her  weakness,  yet  filled  with  trepidation,  she  un- 
closed the  door — which  moved  easily  on  its  well- 
oiled  hinges  and  gave  the  customary  "good-morn- 
ing." 

"You  couldn't  shut  that  door  without  banging  it 
so  as  to  shake  the  house?"  instantly  began  the  in- 
valid; her  querulous  voice  had  deepened  distinct- 
ively with  several  shades  of  acrimony.  "But  none 
of  this  family  consider  me,  or  place  any  stress  on 
my  opinions,  which  would  have  been  greatly  to  your 


132  UNCLE  PHIL. 

advantage,  missy.  You  would  have  been  taught 
civility,  and  not  allowed  such  reckless  freedom  of 
conduct." 

"It  can  scarcely  be  said,"  answered  Gerry  blunt- 
ly, "that  I  have  used  much  freedom  of  conduct  to- 
ward you.  Our  relations  have  been  singularly  un- 
emotional, and  on  my  side,  at  least,  polite.  And  if 
your  desire  to  see  me  this  morning  was  only  to  ex- 
patiate on  my  demerits,  and  to  deplore  the  whip- 
pings I  didn't  get,  I  will  have  the  pleasure  to  make 
my  adieu."  She  turned  to  go,  and  alas!  for  her 
that  she  suffered  herself  to  be  recalled  by  Mrs. 
Southampton's  excited  tones.  But,  to  use  a  homely 
phrase,  "Needs  must  when  the  devil  drives ;"  that's 
why  so  much  harm  is  done  in  the  world. 

"Stay,  I  command  you  to  stay!  I  did  not  send 
for  you  to  speak  of  your  habitual  impertinence  to 
myself — I  am  accustomed  to  that.  But  when  you 
bring  discredit  that  is  reflected  on  me  because,  to 
my  sorrow,  I  am  connected  with  you,  I  will  speak. 
And,  furthermore,  I  will  appeal  to  your  father, 
whose  generous  confidence  you  have  abused.  It 
has  always  been  your  habit  to  associate  with  gentle- 
men just  like  one  of  themselves,  participating  in 
their  most  boisterous  pastimes;  and  your  father 
thinking  it  not  amiss. 

"I  do  not  myself  think  playing  a  grace-hoop  with 
gentlemen  improper.  But  when  it  comes  to  shoot- 
ing with  an  Indian  bow  nearly  as  tall  as  yourself — 


UNCLE  PHIL.  133 

loading  and  shooting  pistols — hewing  and  slash- 
ing with  a  broadsword — cutting  and  thrusting  with 
a  rapier — I  even  believe  you  know  how  to  use  a 
cutlass.  It  is  almost  beyond  belief,  yet  it  came  to 
my  ears,  that  while  visiting  at  Mr.  Hartnell's 
ranch,  you  were  out  wTith  his  sons  lassoing 
cattle,  and  could  hardly  be  restrained  from  going 
out  with  them  on  a  bear  hunt.  And  lately,  another 
phase,  if  I  may  so  call  it,  has  been  added  to  your 
repertoire;  and  nothing  but  the  most  fatuitous 
blindness  could  have  closed  your  father's  eyes  to 
that  which  has  been  so  openly  evident  to  every  one 
else.  I  mean  the  abominable  way  you  have  been 
running  after  that  man  Smith — Titania  after  Bot- 
tom !  It  seems,  though,  that  the  man  was  reason- 
ably honorable  and  kept  out  of  your  way  all  he 
could  until  yesterday  when,  under  the  pretense  of 
mackerel  fishing,  which  is  another  of  your  rare  ac- 
complishments, you  enticed  him  to  go  with  you  on 
that  deserted  ship.  You  had  an  ally  in  the  storm, 
and  he  could  not  escape  from  you  save  by  leaping 
into  the  bay.  Pray,  who  began  the  kissing?" 

Geraldine  Southampton  had  not  taken  a  seat,  but 
had  remained  standing,  as  she  listened  to  the  har- 
angue of  her  step-mother  with  changing  color  and 
a  drooping  mien,  and  humbled  to  the  very  dust. 

Oh !  where  now  was  all  the  pride  of  her  father's 
race  that  it  should  falter  and  fail  and  leave  her  un- 
supported to  the  cruelty  of  some  inner  feeling,  in- 


134  UNCLE  PHIL. 

exorable,  imperative,  which  in  its  rude  awakening 
turned  against  her  with  the  fury  of  a  tiger? 

"Yes,"  she  admitted  to  herself,  her  step-mother 
had  "some  show  of  truth,  though  with  exaggeration 
and  rancor." 

Like  lightning  it  flashed  through  her  mind  how 
she  had  ruled  her  father,  hectored  her  brothers,  and 
domineered  over  every  male  creature  that  came  in 
her  way  until  "the  man  Smith"  appeared;  then 
down  went  her  colors,  and  wide  open  flew  the  gates 
of  the  citadel  to  admit  the  stranger.  Oh!  what 
would  her  father  think  of  her  after  the  representa- 
tions which  would  be  made  to  him  by  Mrs.  South- 
ampton? 

To  deserve  a  reproof  from  him  was  more  than  she 
could  bear.  The  idea  of  it  benumbed  and  paralyzed 
her  faculties. 

Her  nature  was  so  innately,  so  essentially  true, 
that  not  for  an  instant  did  she  attempt  any  denial 
of  the  strange,  strong  influence  Paul  Smith  had  ex- 
erted over  her  from  their  first  meeting,  and  that 
her  conduct  had  been  totally  different  toward  him 
from  what  it  had  ever  been  to  others.  Yet  she  had 
not  dreamed  of  the  possibility  of  such  an  interpre- 
tation as  Mrs.  Southampton  had  placed  upon  it; 
and  was  too  crushed  and  heart-broken  to  reflect 
that  the  odious  Hamilton  had  been  at  work  with  his 
wily  statements.  Had  this  occurred  to  her,  what  a 
iiery  reaction  there  would  have  been.  Her  unre- 


UNCLE  PHIL.  135 

strained  indignation  would  have  sent  her  adversary 
into  strong  hysterics,  and  never  victory  so  complete. 
But  how  many  ships  have  gone  down  close  to  port, 
and  yielding,  as  to  a  necromancer's  spell,  Gerry 
burst  into  passionate  tears.  Extremity  of  feeling 
will  sometimes  cause  strange  exhibitions  in  the 
strongest  natures.  There  have  been  few  scenes 
more  touching  than  the  scene,  when  in  the  long  con- 
test over  the  Charter,  Edward  I.,  England's  fiercest 
King,  standing  face  to  face  with  his  people  in  West- 
minster Hall,  burst  into  sudden  and  violent  tears. 
And,  at  times,  the  mighty  Cromwell,  with  the  iron 
will,  would  break  into  weeping.  And  Achilles,  the 
"bravest  of  the  Greeks,"  shed  tears  over  the  fallen 
body  of  Penthesilia,  the  Amazon  queen,  fallen  in 
battle. 

It  is  only  the  weakest  of  mind  and  body,  imper- 
vious to  sympathy,  that  look  unmoved  on  genuine 
distress. 

Mrs.  Southampton  had  learned  well  her  lesson 
inculcated  by  Hamilton,  and  had  somewhat  bet- 
tered the  instruction;  and  knowing  the  joints  in 
her  step-daughter's  armor,  had  struck  home.  And 
now  it  was  a  feast  to  her  eyes  to  witness  the  suffer- 
ing of  the  weeping  girl  who,  having  nothing  to  deny, 
only  gasped,  in  extenuation,  "We  are — that  is — we 
are  contracted  to  marry." 

"Marry !"  cried  Mrs.  Southampton,  "depend  upon 
it,  he  has  no  such  idea.  Even  the  most  diffident  of 


136  UNCLE  PHIL. 

men,  and  that  man  Smith,  I  hear,  has  nothing  of 
that  quality,  in  their  pursuit  of  wives,  prefer  to  go 
about  it  their  own  way.  And  the  girl  who  shows  a 
willingness  to  assist  is  always  a  loser.  And  so  long- 
as  men  are  men,  they  are  not  expected  to  imitate 
the  saints,  and  decline  to  kiss  a  good-looking  girl — 
when  invited.  You  may  take  my  word  for  it,  the 
next  thing  that  man  Smith  will  do  will  be  to  pick 
a  quarrel  with  you,  and  be  off." 

Gerry's  face  had  become  ghastly.  She  was  no 
guileless  debutante,  though  in  most  things  she  was 
as  innocent  as  a  child,  having  lived  all  her  life  in 
the  pure  atmosphere  of  a  father's  and  brothers'  love. 
It  was  her  father's  wife  who  had  just  given  her  to 
eat  from  the  Tree  of  Knowledge.  Now  she  knew 
good  from  evil — but  she  feared  it  was  all  evil.  Feel- 
ing ill  she  turned  to  leave  the  room,  the  cruel  darts 
following  her.  "Ife'll  pick  a  quarrel  with  you ! 
He'll  pick  a  quarrel  with  you !" 

Slowly  she  descended  the  steps,  and  the  corridor 
being  empty,  she  stopped,  turning  her  face  seaward ; 
for  the  first  time  the  incoming  ocean  breez0  failed 
to  invigorate  her. 

Yesterday,  and  all  the  days  before — she  could  re- 
member— how  she  would  stand  and  fill  and  refill 
her  strong  young  lungs  with  the  briny  aeriform 
fluid  until  she  could  almost  fly,  she  felt  so  light  and 
glad.  But  to-day — yesterday  seemed  so  long  ago; 
whole  ages  seemed  to  have  elapsed — the  world  had 


UNCLE  PHIL.  137 

grown  old — or  come  to  an  end.  "At  least,"  she  mur- 
mured, "there  is  nothing  left  for  me  if  I  am  not  to 
stand  peerless  in  the  eyes  of  papa,  and  the  other  I 
do  so  love.  With  the  approval  of  those  two  I  can 
present  an  invulnerable  front  to  all  comers.  But 
if  they  disapprove  of  me,  I  can  face  no  one,"  and 
she  added  piteously :  "Oh,  what  have  I  done.  I  do 
not  know  what  to  do." 

Oh !  what  a  dreadful  power  lies  in  an  embittered 
woman's  tongue  when  it  is  enabled  by  some  favor- 
ing chance  to  wreak  its  wantonness  on  a  guileless, 
sensitive  nature — and  such  a  nature  can  suffer  in- 
credibly. 

Only  a  little  while  since  and  this  girl  was  so 
happy  and  proud  in  her  love,  and  not  afraid  nor 
ashamed  to  make  an  exhibition  of  it  to  all  the  world. 
Now  this  same  love  humbled  her.  Mrs.  South- 
ampton had  made  her  to  see  the  enormity  of  tum- 
bling into  love  at  sight — making  herself  cheap — 
throwing  herself  at  Smith's  head  in  such  a  trans- 
parent, all -may-read  fashion,  that  she  almost 
loathed  herself.  "And,  perhaps,"  she  reflected, 
"papa,  Mr.  Smith,  South  and  Fred  will  all  loathe 
me  too — and  they  thought  me  so  perfect." 

The  sun  was  not  long  risen  and  his  early  beams 
tinged  with  gold  the  crests  of  the  sparkling,  leaping 
waves,  and  the  white  spray  rushing  in  played 
around  the  stranded  hulk  of  the  old  McKim.  As 
her  eyes  rested  on  the  dismantled  vessel  her  heart 


138  UNCLE  PHIL. 

beat  fast.  She  could  almost  mark  the  exact  spot 
where  she  and  Smith  had  made  their  vows.  In  a 
rush  of  feeling,  she  cried :  "He  is  not  false !  he  will 
be  true!  And  to  my  latest  day  I  must  ever  love 
him." 

A  feeling  of  trust  elated  her,  and  she  walked 
straight  on  to  the  parlor  to  await  his  coming. 

He  was  there  awaiting  her.  Standing  by  some 
shelves  which  had  been  arranged  for  her  curiosities 
— curiosities  which  had  been  presented  to  Gerry, 
and  gathered  from  the  four  quarters  of  the  globe — 
and  examining  what  purported  to  be  the  shoulfler- 
blade  of  a  missionary  devoured  by  the  Fiji  isl- 
anders. Seemingly  intent  on  this  ghastly  relic,  he 
did  not  look  up  when  she  entered. 

Gerry  felt  discouraged,  but  bravely  enough,  she 
came  and  stood  by  his  side. 

No  man  alive  could  have  helped  kissing  the  sweet 
cheek  so  shyly  and  blushingly  offered,  but  he  re- 
mained silent,  and  Gerry,  rebuffed,  drooped  her 
eyes. 

"She  cannot  look  me  in  the  face  to-day,"  passed 
through  this  man's  mind ;  and  his  tones  were  gloomy 
as  he  said :  "Come,  Gerry,  sit  with  me  on  the  sofa. 
I  have  something  to  say  to  you." 

Obediently,  she  sat  beside  him,  but  he  seemed  in 
no  hurry  to  have  his  say. 

Timidly  she  made  an  effort  to  entertain  him  by 
relating  the  unlucky  omen  of  the  rabbit,  and  added, 


UNCLE  PHIL.  139 

"It  does,  it  really  does,  as  I  have  always  heard,  pre- 
sage some  calamity.  I  couldn't  help  being  startled. 
And  I  would  have  gone  right  back  and  remained  in 
my  room  all  day  but — I  thought,  perhaps — you 
might — wish  to  see  me,"  bashfully  she  raised  her 
eyes,  enquiringly,  with  a  bright  beautiful  blush. 

Smith  was  a  self-contained  man,  and  gave  no 
outward  token  of  his  inward  struggle.  She  had 
never  appeared  to  him  so  temptingly  lovely,  and 
it  would  be  like  death  to  give  her  up.  But  he 
must  give  her  up  if  she  were  not  true.  There  was 
no  way  left  but  to  question  her.  And  saying  to  him- 
self he  would  believe  whatever  she  would  say,  he 
asked  abruptly: 

"Gerry,  did  you  see  Captain  Wood  after  you  left 
me  last  evening?" 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  instantly.  "His  command  had 
received  marching  orders,  and  he  came  to  me  to  say 
good-bye.  You  know,"  she  added,  simply,  "that 
Charley  has  been,  and  is  to  papa  and  me  almost  like 
South  and  Fred,  and  after  them,  I  think  he  is  the 
nicest  boy  I  ever  saw." 

Any  man  not  madly  in  love  and  madly  jealous 
would  have  stopped  there,  knowing  there  was  noth- 
ing to  fear  in  her  frank  liking  for  the  young  officer, 
so  frankly  expressed,  but  there  have  been  more  than 
one  Othello.  A  spasm  of  jealousy  seized  him,  and 
catching  her  wrist  roughly,  he  asked,  "Did  he  not 
kiss  you  when  he  took  his  leave?" 


140  UNCLE  PHIL. 

In  place  of  the  indignant  denial  he  so  hoped  for, 
Gerry  burst  into  tears. 

It  is  all  true,  was  the  thought  coming  into  her 
mind.  What  Mrs.  Southampton  said,  and  he  is 
trying  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  me. 

Smith  dropped  her  wrist,  as  if  it  burnt  him  like 
red-hot  iron;  his  worst  fears  confirmed. 

"So ! — Shameless !"  he  burst  out.  "With  your  lips 
not  cold  from  your  vows,  and  still  warm  from  my 
kisses,  you  dared  to  play  the  wanton !" 

The  agony  which  men  sometimes  inflict  on  the 
beings  they  love  best  must  work  perpetual  astonish- 
ment in  Heaven. 

Gerry's  tears  still  flowed.  For  the  second  time  in 
her  life  she  experienced  the  unenviable  feeling  of 
being  at  a  deserved  disadvantage.  How  mercilessly 
she  was  lashed  by  the  inner  consciousness  of  being 
too  easily  won.  "He  has  no  respect  for  me,"  was  her 
moan.  She  had  no  mind  to  plead  with  the  tender 
Juliet : 

"Trust  me,  gentleman,  I'll  prove  more  true  than  those 
That  have  more  cunning  to  be  strange." 

Ah!  no.  She  wept  on.  Her  tears  exasperated 
him.  It  is  astonishing  how  brutal  a  man  can  be, 
passionately  in  love.  He  would  have  given  his 
heart's  blood,  drop  by  drop,  for  this  girl  he  was  so 
cruelly  wounding. 

"Damn  the  money !"  he  burst  out  in  uncontroll- 


UNCLE  PHIL.  141 

able  wrath,  "that  caused  you  to  feign  love  for  me — 
a  man  old  as  your  father,  and  with  so  much  art  that 
I — poor  fool !  believed  you,  while  all  the  time  your 
heart  was  given  to  that  smooth-faced  youngster. 
Oh!  Gerry,  Gerry,  how  could  you  do  so?  How 
could  Southampton's  daughter  so  behave?" 

In  an  instant  all  was  changed.  With  the  quick- 
ness of  galvanic  action,  Geraldine  Southampton 
sprang  to  her  feet,  with  uplifted  head — every  ves- 
tige of  humiliation  gone — her  tears  had  ceased,  and 
her  eyes  glittering  in  the  fierce  wrath  aroused, 
lightning  streaks  seemed  almost  to  dart  from  them. 

"If  I  understand  you  aright,"  she  said,  not  in  the 
loud,  vibrating  voice  of  passion,  but  in  the  low, 
deadly  tones  used  when  the  duello  is  a  la  mort ;  "if 
I  understand  you  aright,  you  say  that  I,  Geraldine 
Southampton,  Colonel  Southampton's  daughter,  be- 
cause you  are  rich,  because  of  your  money,  ran 
after  you,"  no  other  than  plain  words  would 
serve  her  now,  "and  tried  to  catch  you — pretended 
to  love  you — did,  in  fact,  take  you  in,  while  all  the 
time  my  affections  were  given  to  Captain  Wood. 
Here  let  me  say,"  she  continued,  "that  I  were  happy 
if  I  had  loved  him,  the  chivalrous  gentleman,  the 
gallant  soldier  whose  manly  love  would  honor  a 
queen !  But  no,  I  could  care  for  him  only  as  a  very 
dear,  trusted  friend ;  while  it  has  been  my  misera- 
ble fate — for  no  reason  that  I  can  give.  Have  you 
ever  been  otherwise  to  me  than  uncivil  and  rough? 


142  UNCLE  PHIL. 

— to  love  you  with  so  true  a  love  that  you  are  not 
worthy  of  it,  and  cannot  even  understand." 

"Good  Heavens,  Gerry,"  he  exclaimed,  making  a 
motion  as  if  to  approach  her. 

"Keep  back!"  she  commanded.  "Kecollect  your 
place.  Do  not  insult  me  with  your  dastardly  ex- 
cuses. I  might  forget  the  restraint  imposed  on  a 
woman,  and  give  you  a  blow." 

He  stood  facing  her.  The  mist  cleared;  and  he 
saw  depicted,  outwardly  and  visibly,  a  truth  higher 
and  nobler  than  he  had  ever  dreamed  of ;  and  that 
he  had  won  a  prize  richer  than  he  knew,  and  had 
thrown  it  away.  "But  was  it  beyond  recall?" 

"Oh,  Gerry,"  he  pleaded,  "won't  you  forgive  me? 
I  was  a  poor,  jealous  brute." 

Tears  again  filled  her  eyes,  she  loved  him  so  well, 
and  would,  she  well  knew,  so  long  as  she  lived ;  but 
it  was  all  over  between  them  UOAV.  The  pearly 
drops  welled  over,  and  rolled  down  her  cheeks. 

"Keep  back !  Keep  back,  I  say.  I  am  not  crying 
about  you — I  have  hurt  myself,"  she  said,  dragging 
at  the  heavy  chain  bracelet  he  had  placed  on  her 
wrist,  until  the  soft  flesh  bled. 

Smith,  seeing  the  utter  uselessness  of  any  attempt 
to  pacify  her  in  her  present  state  of  excitement,  de- 
cided to  immediately  seek  her  father — he  would  not 
spare  himself  in  his  explanations — and  implore  his 
powerful  aid  to  propitiate  Gerry.  But  he  feared  she 
would  not  relent.  He  felt  that  he  had  lost  her  es- 


UNCLE  PHIL.  143 

teem,  and  the  manner  of  losing  it  carried  neither 
oil  nor  balm.  Feeling  very  little  in  love  with  him- 
self, he  slowly  walked  from  the  room,  and  had 
scarcely  reached  the  corridor,  when  the  boom  of  a 
cannon  from  one  of  the  vessels  in  the  harbor  smote 
his  ear.  He  knew  it  to  be  the  signal  of  a  bark  going 
to  the  Sandwich  Islands  for  her  passengers  ashore 
to  come  on  board.  One  of  the  passengers  was  al- 
ready on  board.  Impecunious  and  ill,  he  was  mak- 
ing the  voyage  to  stay  the  symptoms,  perhaps  de- 
stroy them,  of  a  pulmonary  disorder.  To  this  per- 
son Smith  had  promised  assistance.  There  being 
no  time  to  lose,  he  hailed  a  boat,  and  was  soon  row- 
ing toward  the  ship. 

Gerry,  yearning  to  be  alone,  started  for  her  own 
apartment.  It  did  not  seem  to  her  that  it  mattered 
much  what  happened — the  whole  earth  was  for  the 
moment  as  if  blotted  out,  obliterated,  unmade;  but 
she  almost  turned  to  stone  at  seeing  Smith  in  a  row- 
boat  and  pulling  hard  for  the  vessel  already  making 
her  first  tack  to  sail  out  from  the  harbor. 

She  saw  him  reach  the  ship,  and  climb  up  to  the 
deck,  and  disappear.  Immovable  as  a  statue  she 
continued  her  gaze,  she  knew  not  how  long,  until, 
as  by  magic,  a  fog  rolled  up  and  she  could  see  no 
more.  There  are  moments  into  which  years  of  or- 
dinary life  seem  to  be  compressed,  and  Gerry,  look- 
ing far  into  the  future,  could  see  no  terminal  point 
but  death  for  the  agony  she  was  suffering.  Mean- 


144  UNCLE  PHIL. 

while  all  traces  of  her  humiliating  grief  must  be 
hid  from  the  world.  There  was  nothing  left  but  to 
cover  her  bleeding  heart  with  her  white  hand^  and 
declare  she  was  not  hurt. 

Du  Barry  and  her  compeers  might  shriek  at  the 
scaffold,  but  the  Rohans  must  die  mute. 

Let  us  now  see  how  it  had  been  with  Smith.  He 
found  the  person  he  went  to  visit  more  ill  than  he 
had  expected,  and  lost  no  time  in  giving  the  prom- 
ised assistance,  and  was  condensing  in  a  few  words 
some  valuable  counsel,  when  he  became  aware  that 
the  ship  was  under  way.  He  rushed  up  on  deck 
only  to  find  that  the  boats  that  had  brought  pas- 
sengers had  all  returned  to  the  shore,  and  that  the 
ship  was  zigzagging  her  way  out  of  the  harbor. 

"Five  hundred  dollars!"  he  shouted,  "five  thou- 
sand !  to  be  put  ashore." 

"Be  aisy  there,  be  aisy,"  said  the  Irish  sailing- 
master,  "be  aisy  wid  ye.  I'll  fetch  a  tack  and  bring 
her  to  at  Santa  Cruz,  at  the  mouth  of  the  harbor, 
where  you  can  get  a  boat  and  be  rowed  back  in  a 
jiffy.  But  the  nozzle  of  this  here  sailer  is  set  for 
Honolulu,  and  nothing  but  the  will  of  Providence 
or  the  Captain's  orders  will  turn  her  back.  So  there 
is  no  good  of  cavorting  around." 

Smith  was  greatly  annoyed,  but  in  the  belief  that 
it  could  amount  only  to  a  short  detention,  endeav- 
ored to  restrain  himself. 

But  who  does  not  know  how  fast  and  thick  on 


UNCLE  PHIL.  145 

the  Pacific  coast  a  fog  can  roll  in,  becoming  so  dense 
in  a  few  moments  as  to  make  objects  invisible  at  a 
yard's  distance. 

When  the  fog  lifted,  the  vessel  was  far  out  at 
sea.  Smith  attempted  in  vain  to  bribe  the  captain 
to  return  with  him  to  Bonito. 

"I  can't  do  it,"  answered  that  surly  individual. 
"I  am  not  the  owner,  and  if  I  act  contrary  to  orders 
I'll  lose  my  berth — that's  all  there  is  about  it.  And 
you  will  just  have  to  become  reconciled  to  our  com- 
pany as  far  as  Hawaii." 

Smith  vented  his  feelings  in  not  a  few  but  a  good 
many  mouth-filling  oaths  while  being  carried  to- 
ward the  Sandwich  Islands.  And  it  wras  scarcely 
a  consolation  to  him  that  wind  and  wave  were  doing 
their  best  for  a  speedy  voyage. 

Humanly  speaking,  it  wras  a  cruel  fate  that  sep- 
arated hearts  loving  so  well.  But  there  is  a  Provi- 
dence that  marks  the  sparrow's  fall,  and  whose  all- 
seeing  eye  saw  that  not  yet  were  those  two  strong 
natures  fitted  to  be  welded  together. 

Great  happiness  is  not  bought  without  a  price — 
deep  waters  are  to  pass — rugged  hills  to  climb — 
thorny  paths  to  tread  before  the  summum  bonem, 
even  of  this  life,  can  be  gained.  And  the  ends  we 
shape  for  ourselves  and  the  ends  shaped  for  us  by 
Immortal  hands  are  as  different  as  light  from  dark- 
ness, as  wide  apart  as  life  from  death. 


146  UNCLE  PHIL. 

CHAPTER  XII. 

AZRAEL. 

"A  summer  sea  and  a  summer  sky 

Itfever  a  ripple  and  never  a  frown, 
Never  a  token  of  shipwreck  night; 

What  did  it  matter?    The  bark  went  down." 

"God  help  me,"  murmured  Gerry,  "I  love  him 
yet."  She  strained  her  eyes  toward  the  mouth  of 
the  harbor,  but  the  fog  stood  up  an  impenetrable 
wall,  baffling  vision. 

She  heeded  not,  heard  not,  the  hasty  clatter  of 
footsteps  until  her  name  was  gasped  rather  than 
spoken  by  Uncle  Phil.  He  was  shaking  as  with  an 
ague,  and  his  eyes  almosjt  starting  from  their  sock- 
ets with  horror — yet,  even  then,  consideration  for 
his  young  lady  was  uppermost, 

"Don't  be  skered,  Miss  Gerry,  honey,  f er  de  Lord's 
sake,  don't !  'Tain't  nuthin'.  Marse  Robert,  he  dess 
drapped  down  in  er  little  sorter  faintin'  fit.  'Taint 
nuthin' — I  'spec  he  done  ober  it  now." 

"Where?   Where  is  he?"  shrieked  Gerry. 

"In  de  office,  honey.  De  docters,  an'  Mr.  Hamil- 
ton is  in  dar  too — he  done  fetched  'em.  Don't  go 
in  dar  now,  Miss  Gerry,  chile.  Oh!  don't — dess 
wait.  Oh,  Lordy !  Oh,  Lordy !"  he  cried,  wringing 
his  hands,  and  vainly  trying  to  keep  pace  with  Colo- 


UNCLE  PHIL.  147 

nel  Southampton's  daughter,  as  she  almost  flew 
down  the  corridor.  "Oh,  oh,  oh,"  he  continued,  "it 
will  kill  dat  chile !  Oh,  Lordy !  spar'  dat  chile,  an' 
take  it  all  out  on  de  ole  Phil — he  ain't  no  'count, 
nohow — please,  good  Lordy !  take  it  out  on  de  ole 
nigger,  he's  er  mean  nigger,  an'  y'u  knows  y'usef 
dat  she's  one  ob  de  Southamptons." 

Colonel  Southampton  was  a  popular  man  and  the 
news  of  his  sudden  seizure  had  spread,  and  about 
the  closed  door  was  a  throng  of  people.  A  lane 
was  opened  to  let  Gerry  pass  through. 

"Let  me  in!"  she  cried  imperiously,  striking  on 
the  door.  It  was  opened  only  a  little  way  by  Hamil- 
ton, who  said :  "Pray  go  back,  Miss  Gerry.  The  doc- 
tors are  with  your  father,  and  they  do  not  wish  any 
one  to  come  in  at  present.  I  will  send  for  you  the 
moment  he  becomes  conscious." 

She  pushed  him  aside  as  if  he  were  only  a  straw  in 
her  way.  The  efforts  of  the  medical  men  to  restore 
consciousness  had  failed,  and  they  stood,  by  a  table, 
in  consultation. 

The  patient  lay  prone  on  the  India  matting,  his 
vest  and  cravat  loosened,  his  coat-sleeves  ripped  to 
bare  his  arms  for  the  lancet.  Oh !  to  see  him  thus, 
the  handsome,  debonair  Colonel  Southampton. 

With  a  wild  shriek  his  daughter  threw  herself 
on  his  breast.  "Papa !  papa !"  That  agonized  cry  did 
more  than  the  doctors'  skill  to  arouse  the  stricken 
man.  His  eyelids  unclosed,  and  his  lips  moving 


148  UNCLE  PHIL. 

slightly,  articulated,  "Gerry."  Stimulants  were 
hastily  given,  his  daughter  clinging  to  him,  and 
pouring  forth  terms  of  endearment. 

"Compose  yourself,  Miss  Southampton,"  said  one 
of  the  physicians,  "do  not  agitate  your  father,  he 
needs  to  be  kept  quiet." 

Colonel  Southampton,  now  perfectly  conscious, 
spoke;  but  it  was  slowly  and  with  much  difficulty. 
"I  wish  to  be  alone  with  my  daughter,"  and  with- 
out heeding  the  remonstrances  that  were  made,  he 
continued  in  feeble  tones :  "My  time  is  short — I — 
want — only — Gerry." 

All  quitted  the  room,  leaving  father  and  daughter 
together;  only  Uncle  Phil  had  hidden  in  a  corner, 
and,  all  huddled  up,  rocked  himself  back  and  forth 
in  mute  woe. 

"Take  my  hand,  Gerry,  and  try  to  pay  attention 
to  what  I  have  to  say." 

"Yes,  papa,"  she  answered,  and  by  a  mighty  ef- 
fort becoming  quiet. 

"Darling,  darling,  I  have  loved  you  best  of  all,"  he 
murmured,  looking  upon  her  with  wistful  tender- 
ness. "Another  will  soon  take  my  place  in  your 
affections — but,  thank  God!  I  leave  you  in  good 
hands." 

"No  one  can  take  your  place  in  my  affections, 
papa.  You  are  first,  and  I  would  give  all  the  world 
to  keep  you." 

Again  he  spoke:    "Gerry,  I  leave  some  means, 


UNCLE  PHIL.  149 

but  I  can  ask  no  one  save  you  to  care  for  Mrs. 
Southampton."  He  said  this  plaintively,  as  if  it  dis- 
tressed him  to  impose  such  a  burden  on  her  young 
life. 

"I  will  care  for  her,  papa,"  she  promised. 

"Be  gentle  and  patient  with  her,  Gerry,"  he 
pleaded;  "she  is  so  helpless." 

"1  will  be  gentle  and  patient  with  her,  papa.  I 
will  consult  her  wishes  in  preference  to  my  own." 

The  dying  man  looked  at  her  gratefully,  then  his 
eyes  closed,  never  to  open  again  in  this  world.  The 
inexorable  visitor  that  comes  once  to  every  living 
creature  had  come.  Gerry  kissed  the  cold  lips, 
which  in  life  had  always  spoken  to  her  words  of 
love ;  and  repeated :  "Yes,  papa,  I  will  care  for  her. 
I  will  consult  her  wishes  in  preference  to  my  own." 

This  promise  she  regarded  as  a  vow  made  to  the 
dead.  God  help  her !  Its  fulfilment  was  to  crush  her 
heart  and  wring  her  life,  and  give  her  to  drink 
daily,  as  a  beverage,  from  woe's  bitterest  cup. 

When  she  rose  up  from  her  father's  dead  body  a 
change  in  her  had  been  wrought.  Such  a  change 
as  a  rushing  tornado  brings  in  its  pitiless  sweep 
over  a  parterre  of  gay  flowers. 

The  bright,  joyous  Geraldine  Southampton  had 
forever  departed.  Even  physically  the  change  was 
utter.  A  dreadful  pallor  usurped  the  brilliant 
bloom  of  her  cheeks,  whose  rounded  outlines  seemed 
in  a  moment  to  have  become  pinched  and  haggard. 


150  UNCLE  PHIL. 

Her  girlhood  had  passed  away;  she  was  now  a 
woman,  and  no  more  exempt  than  her  fellows  from 
the  burdens  of  life. 

We  will  pass  over  the  details  of  the  splendid 
funeral ;  how  harrowing  to  the  daughter,  only  those 
who  have  endured  a  like  ordeal  can  know.  And  she, 
who  had  hitherto  reigned  as  a  princess,  was  from 
the  moment  of  her  father's  death  set  aside.  Mrs. 
Southampton  coming  to  the  front,  or  rather  her 
aid-de-camp,  Hamilton,  did,  acting,  as  he  said,  un- 
der Mrs.  Southampton's  directions. 

Colonel  Southampton  had  been  buried  three 
weeks.  Much  of  the  time  had  been  passed  by  Mrs. 
Southampton  and  Hamilton  in  consultations,  from 
which  Gerry  had  been  excluded.  Only  Uncle  Phil 
seemed  to  care  for  her  now ;  and  it  was  touching  the 
way  he  mastered  his  own  grief  so  as  not  to  augment 
hers.  He  would  sit  for  hours  intently  watching  her, 
with  his  hands  clasped  over  his  knees,  then  sudden- 
ly he  would  break  out: 

"Don't  y'u  'member,  Miss  Gerry,  honey,  dem 
times  way  back  in  Wirginny,  when  y'u  wus  little, 
'bout  all  dem  bird  aigs  Uncle  Phil  fetched  y'u,  an' 
when  y'u  wus  obstroperlus  an'  would  go  out  inter  de 
rain,  dat  it  wus  Uncle  Phil  dat  toted  y'u,  an'  hilt  er 
umereller  ober  y'u.  An'  ter  devart  y'u  I  sung  y'u 
chunes,  an'  played  fer  y'u  on  de  jews-harp,  an'  I 
ain't  sho'  dat  I  didn't  daunce  fer  y'u?" 

Sometimes  she  would  only  raise  her  eyes  to  his 


UNCLE  PHIL.  151 

mournfully  without  answer,  and  when  she  would 
to  say :  "Oh !  yes,  Uncle  Phil,  I  remember ;"  almost 
a  grin  would  spread  over  his  face,  and  he  chuckled : 
"Tank  de  good  Lordy  fer  dat  much." 

"See,  Geraldine,"  said  Mrs.  Southampton,  in  a 
dissatisfied  tone,  "these  bonnets  and  veils  are  ex- 
actly alike." 

"Are  they?"  was  the  weary,  dreary  reply. 

"Look  for  yourself,"  was  the  sharp  rejoinder. 
"Both  veils  are  the  same  lengtn,  and  each  have  a 
hem  just  eight  inches  wide." 

"Yes,"  said  Gerry,  not  seeing  her  way  to  any  other 
answer. 

Mrs.  Southampton  looked  at  her  stepdaughter 
contemptuously. 

"Excuse  me,"  supplemented  Gerry,  seeing  that 
her  answrer  had  given  offence;  "but  I  do  not  think 
that  I  understand." 

"Of  course  you  do  not,"  was  the  spirited  rejoin- 
der, "understand  the  requirements  of  refined  ladies 
in  any  situation.  But  I  will  explain  to  you  that  I, 
being  the  widow,  should  have  a  veil  at  least  two 
yards  long  with  a  hem  not  less  than  twelve  inches 
wide,  while  yours — you  being  only  the  daughter — 
should  be  less  suggestive  of  grief." 

A  spasm  of  pain  passed  over  Gerry's  face,  but 
she  answered  with  pathetic  patience:  "The  veils 
can  be  arranged  to  suit  you." 

With  half-closed  eyes  Mrs.  Southampton  surveyed 


152  UNCLE  PHIL. 

Gerry  keenly.  She  had  not  been  unobservant  of 
the  great  change  that  had  come  over  her  high-spir- 
ited stepdaughter.  She  and  Hamilton  had  com- 
mented upon  it.'  They  could  but  mark  the  absence 
of  the  springing,  elastic  step  which  had  given  place 
to  slow,  listless  movements;  and  the  stamp  on  her 
face  of  an  unfathomless  woe  that  never  lightened. 
And  they  both  concurred  that  while,  so  far,  her  con- 
duct had  been  unobtrusive  and  of  discretion,  yet 
its  continuance  was  a  subject  of  grave  doubt,  Mrs. 
Southampton  frankly  stating  the  family  traits: 
"These  Southamptons  won't  go  a  step  further  than 
they  want  to  go  in  any  direction,  and  it  is  unpleas- 
ant and  dangerous  to  attempt  to  force  them,"  and 
she  continued,  "to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  am  puzzled 
at  this  extraordinary  docility  in  Geraldine,  and 
fear  that  it  is  too  contrary  to  nature  to  last.  But, 
dear  Mr.  Hamilton,  you  can  count  on  me  to  further 
your  wishes  by  all  means  in  my  power.  You  know 
it  is  my  greatest  desire  to  see  Geraldine  your  wife." 
She  was  honest  in  this.  Hamilton's  adroit  flattery 
formed  for  her  the  mitigating  side  of  life.  Compli- 
ments had  been  plentiful  in  her  youth,  but  now 
they  were  as  a  dead  letter,  and  no  wronder  it  pleased 
her  fancy,  for  heart  she  had  none,  when  sometimes 
in  a  confidential,  caressing  way  he  would  stroke 
her  hair  and  call  her,  "My  pretty  mamma,  that  I 
hope  is  to  be."  He  had  so  completely  dominated 
her  weak  nature  that  the  idea  of  separation  from 


UNCLE  PHIL.  153 

him  was  insupportable.  And  that  he  should  be- 
come a  member  of  the  family  was  an  object  worth 
scheming  for,  and  the  sacrifice  of  Geraldine's  life 
was  not  worth  consideration,  when  her  wishes  and 
comfort  were  at  stake. 

"Geraldine,  has  it  ever  occurred  to  you  how  we 
are  to  live  in  the  future?  We  will  soon  have  to  va- 
cate this  house  for  your  father's  successor." 

"We  can  rent  a  small  house  and  live  on  the  means 
left  us  by  papa  until  my  brothers  return,"  was 
Gerry's  answer. 

"Mr.  Hamilton  says  there  are  no  means." 

Gerry  raised  her  eyes  and  looked  sternly  at  her 
stepmother. 

"I  do  not  understand  at  all  the  officiousness  of 
that  person  in  our  affairs.  It  began  at  the  time  of 
papa's  death.  He  took  the  place  of  older  and  better 
esteemed  friends.  As  it  was  by  your  direction  I 
submitted — that  was  no  time  for  unseemly  differ- 
ences between  you  and  me.  But  it  is  quite  time  now 
for  his  impertinent  interference  to  cease." 

Mrs.  Southampton  sobbed  a  little,  and  said  plain- 
tively : 

"I  never  meant,  Geraldine,  to  bring  it  up  against 
your  father,  now  that  he  is  dead — his  wrongs  to  me. 
He  gave  up  his  life  entirely  to  frivolous  amuse- 
ments, shared  by  you  and  your  brothers,  leaving 
me,  his  wife,  a  neglected  invalid.  Who  has  there 
ever  been  save  only  Mr.  Hamilton  kind-hearted 


154  UNCLE  PHIL. 

enough  to  pay  me  any  attention?  And  when  that 
great  shock  came,"  here  she  sobbed  a  little  more, 
"I  never  could  have  lived  through  that  ordeal  but 
for  the  friendly  arm  he  offered  me  to  lean  upon.  And 
if  the  dead  can  know  such  things,"  she  piously 
lifted  her  eyes  to  the  ceiling,  "Colonel  Southampton 
is  grateful  at  this  moment  for  his  care  of  me  when 
no  one  else,  not  even  you,  gave  me  a  thought." 

Geraldine  was  vanquished.  She  had  given  her 
father  a  promise  to  be  considerate,  kind,  and  gentle 
to  this  woman,  and  truly  she  had  meant  to  be  so, 
but  up  to  this  time  perhaps  she  had  not  been — she 
could  not  say — her  anguish  had  been  so  cruel ;  but 
there  must  be  no  more  remissness.  In  tones  tremu- 
lous with  emotion  she  said : 

"I  beg  your  pardon  if  I  have  failed  in  attentions 
to  you.  The  past  few  weeks  have  been  so  hard,  but 
you  shall  have  no  cause  for  complaint  in  the  future. 
Papa's  last  words  were  of  you,  and  how  dare  you  ac- 
cuse him  of  indifference?"  she  burst  out  indignantly, 
"when  at  such  a  time  your  comfort  was  uppermost 
in  his  mind?  Did  I  not  then,  to  give  consolation 
to  him,  promise  to  care  for  you  faithfully — to  con- 
sult your  wishes  in  preference  to  my  own?" 

"You  promised  him  this,  Geraldine?"  asked  Mrs. 
Southampton  eagerly. 

Gerry  bent  her  head  in  affirmation,  it  almost  took 
away  her  life  to  talk  about  her  father  to  this  worn-, 
an.  And  who  can  say  it  were  a  mercy  that  no 


UNCLE  PHIL.  155 

clairvoyant  gift  enabled  her  to  read  the  unbounded 
satisfaction  that  now  filled  the  mind  of  Mrs.  South- 
ampton? She  saw  how  easy  it  would  be  to  rule  this 
haughty  stepdaughter,  whom  she  now  held  in  lead- 
ing strings.  The  gyves  might  kill  her,  but  she 
wTould  never  rend  them  asunder — "trust  a  South- 
ampton for  keeping  faith." 

"You  are  mistaken,"  said  Gerry  after  a  long 
pause,  "about  papa  not  leaving  sufficient  means  to 
provide  for  our  immediate  wants.  He  told  me  there 
was  sufficient.  After  I  look  over  his  papers  I  can 
understand  his  affairs." 

"At  my  desire  Mr.  Hamilton  has  been  kind  enough 
to  give  his  attention  to  my  late  husband's  dis- 
ordered business.  He  informs  me  there  were  some 
means,  which  have  been  consumed  by  the  recent 
heavy  expenses ;  and  now  there  is  absolutely  nothing 
left." 

The  miserable  feeling  of  having  been  foiled  by 
an  unworthy  foe  passed  across  Gerry's  mind,  and 
that  there  was  no  alternative,  she  must  begin  the 
battle  of  life  as  best  she  could.  It  was  an  appalling 
outlook  that  confronted  her  after  the  manner  in 
which  she  had  been  brought  up  to  work  for  bread. 
But  she  was  willing  to  try,  and  would  have  suc- 
ceeded. Her  pride  of  race  would  have  made  her 
ashamed  to  be  ashamed  of  any  work  that  was  hon- 
est. 

"You  must  give  me  a  little  time  to  think,"  she 


156  UNCLE  PHIL. 

answered.  "But  you  can  rely  upon  it,  I  will  do  my 
best.  Papa  and  I  have  many  friends;  they  will 
surely  assist  me  in  finding  something  to  do." 

"Had  many  friends,  you  mean.  Fortune  and 
friends  fly  away  together.  What  do  you  think  has 
become  of  all  your  fine  friends?  Never  coming 
near  us  in  our  affliction ;  not  even  sending  cards  of 
sympathy." 

The  truth  must  be  stated,  Hamilton  had  denied 
admittance  to  all  under  the  plea  that  Mrs.  and  Miss 
Southampton  would  see  no  one,  being  completely 
overwhelmed  with  grief.  And  he  had  destroyed  a 
bushel  of  letters  addressed  to  Gerry.  He  had  no 
scruples.  It  was  necessary  to  sequestrate  Gerry 
until  the  plan  he  had  in  view  had  matured  to  frui- 
tion. 

Gerry  sighed.  She  had  not  thought  of  it  before, 
but  it  seemed  dreadful  that  no  one  at  all  cared  for 
her  for  herself,  and  that  in  losing  her  father  she 
had  lost  all.  But  she  answered  bravely:  "There 
must  be  something  that  I  can  do  to  earn  a  living 
for  us." 

Mrs.  Southampton  sneered.  By  some  mysterious 
natural  law  the  feebler  the  nature  the  more  cruel. 

"You  might  earn  something  of  a  living  for  us  by 
singing  on  the  stage,  or  ballet  dancing.  I  do  not 
deny  that  you  could  do  one  or  both  well,  but  I  have 
some  regard  for  Colonel  Southampton's  name  if 
you,  his  petted  daughter,  have  none.  And  I  forbid 


UNCLE  PHIL.  157 

you,  bearing  his  name,  to  appear  behind  the  foot- 
lights." 

Gerry's  eyes  flashed  with  something  of  the  old 
brilliancy. 

"You  forget  I  am  a  Southampton  by  blood,  and 
that  I  am  not  likely  to  soil  the  name  were  I  to  go 
behind  the  footlights  to  earn  your  bread  and  mine. 
Any  calling  that  is  honestly  followed  can  be  made 
respectable.  But  I  can  neither  sing  nor  dance  now," 
she  added  sadly,  "though  I  will  immediately  see 
about  doing  something." 

"Geraldine,"  cried  Mrs.  Southampton  passion- 
ately, "you  talk  like  a  child.  You  are  perfectly  in- 
capable of  earning  money.  And,  but  for  your  odious 
selfishness,  and  always  thinking  of  what  suits  you, 
it  is  in  your  power  to  provide  for  us  both." 

"How?" 

"Notwithstanding  all  your  ill-treatment  of  him, 
Mr.  Hamilton  is  still  willing  to  marry  you.  Why 
not  consent?" 

>'A  thousand  deaths  first,"  was  the  vehement  an- 
swer. 

Mrs.  Southampton  began  to  weep. 

"I  shall  starve !  I  shall  be  put  out  of  this  house 
on  the  high  road!  It  is  easy  to  see  what  all  the 
promises  you  made  to  your  dying  father  will 
amount  to!  You  gave  him,  as  you  say  yourself, 
your  solemn  promise  to  consult  my  wishes.  False 
girl,  can  nothing  wean  you  from  your  love  of  self?" 


168  UNCLE  PHIL. 

Gerry  looked  at  her  bitterly.  How  dreadful 
seemed  the  torture  to  pass  her  life  with  this  woman, 
but  there  was  no  escape;  that  promise  given  bound 
her  hand  and  foot,  and  she  must  be  patient.  She 
said  soothingly :  "Have  no  fear,  I  will  provide  for 
you,  if  I  have  to  sweep  a  crossing." 

Kidicule  from  her  stepmother  in  a  storm  fell  over 
and  across  and  all  around  the  shrinking  Gerry. 

This  was  only  the  opening  of  the  attack  which 
was  then  commenced,  and  continued  unceasingly. 
No  garrison,  however  strong,  can  resist  effectively 
unremitting  assaults;  fatigue  will  at  length  cause 
the  besieged  to  pause  for  breath.  Then,  the  assail- 
ants rushing  in,  grasp  the  colors  from  hands  grown 
too  feeble  to  hold  them  and  shout,  "Victory !" 

What  wonder  then  that  Gerry  in  her  despair 
should  ask  herself,  "What  did  it  matter?"  At  the 
nadir  of  misery  the  heart  can  suffer  not  an  addition- 
al pang. 

And  so,  at  this  crisis  of  her  life,  under  sensations 
morbidly  exaggerated,  she  was  led  to  take  the 
wrong  turning. 

When  the  Children  of  Israel  were  encamped  by 
the  sea,  and  were  sore  afraid  at  the  approach  of 
Pharaoh  and  his  hosts,  they  had  Moses  to  admonish 
them  to  "stand  still  and  see  the  salvation  of  the 
Lord."  There  was  no  one  to  hold  Gerry  back.  Oh ! 
no,  she  was  pushed  on,  as  it  were,  into  the  black 
night,  to  a  black  fate.  And,  ah !  it  was  so  sad.  She 


UNCLE  PHIL.  159 

was  totally  incapable  of  making  a  stand  for  herself 
seeing  everything  in  a  false  light  with  her  vivid  im- 
agination, and  her  generous  heart,  tender  and  true ; 
such  a  temperament  can  enjoy  with  exalted  rap- 
ture, also,  it  can  suffer  with  an  intensity  of  pain 
that  goads  nearly  to  madness,  and  impels  to  such 
extravagances  as  less  ardent  natures  are  never 
tempted  to  commit. 

"Well,"  she  cried  out  at  last,  "if  nothing  else  will 
suit  you,  so  be  it,  if  Mr.  Hamilton  should  still  so 
desire  after  a  communication  I  must  make  to  him." 

"Ah,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Southampton,  approvingly, 
''now  you  are  reasonable,  and  I  will  send  Mr.  Ham- 
ilton in  to  you  this  moment.  And  really  time  is 
pressing.  He  says  that  his  father  has  just  died, 
and  he  must  lose  no  time  in  returning  to  the 
'States',"  and  she  skipped  from  the  room  in  quite  a 
girlish  way. 

Hamilton  well  knew  that  he  had  no  ordinary  girl 
to  deal  with.  But  he  quite  believed  in  his  ability 
to  have  his  way  in  the  long  run,  and  his  manner  was 
assured. 

"Mrs.  Southampton  has  informed  me  that  at  last 
you  have  consented  to  make  me  the  happiest  of 
men." 

"That  is  false,  and  you  know  it,"  she  replied, 
looking  at  him  steadily.  "I  will  not  be  responsible 
for  words  other  than  my  own.  I  said  that  I  would 
not  refuse  to  marry  you  should  you  still  desire  it 


160  UNCLE  PHIL. 

after  you  have  heard  what  I  have  to  tell  you.  I 
have  no  heart  to  give  you  now,  or  ever.  It  has  gone 
out  of  my  keeping  absolutely — you  know  to  whom. 
Perhaps  you  also  know,"  she  continued  in  the  mo- 
notonous tone  of  one  under  duress,  and  who  is 
forced  to  relate  a  sorrowful  story  without  faltering, 
"that  he  does  not  care  for  me.  I  think  he  despises 
me,  I  was  so  easily  won.  Yet  my  infatuation  re- 
mains. I  would  prefer  to  throw  myself  under  his 
feet  and  be  trampled  to  death  than  to  live  without 
him." 

"Have  you  no  shame  in  telling  me  this?"  said 
Hamilton,  flushing  darkly. 

"None,"  she  answered,  "and  I  have  more  to  tell 
you.  I  disgusted  him ;  and  he  went  away  and  left 
me,  although  there  was  in  the  sight  of  heaven  a 
solemn  marriage  between  us.  We  knelt  together 
on  the  deck  of  the  old  McKim  and  pronounced  vows 
which  I  hold  to  be  binding." 

"Have  you  an  idea,"  asked  Hamilton,  "how  such  a 
sentimental  ceremony  would  be  regarded  by  the 
courts?" 

Without  noticing  his  sneering  remark,  Gerry 
raised  her  eyes  to  his  with  a  look  of  anxious  in- 
quiry. "After  this  you  would  not  wish  to  marry 
me?" 

"I  would,"  he  answered.  "You  fancied  Smith,  I 
fancy  you." 

"Man!"  she  cried  impetuously,  "for  your  own 


UNCLE  PHIL.  161 

sake  reconsider.  Disliking — loathing  you  as  I  do, 
what  will  be  your  life  with  me?" 

Her  passionate  appeal  recoiled  from  the  obsti- 
nate, cold  heart  of  this  man  like  hailstones  from  an 
armor  of  proof. 

"I'll  risk  it,"  he  answered.  "Katharine  did  not 
at  first  smile  upon  Petruchio,  but  she  ended  by 
making  him  a  pattern  wife." 

"Do  not  deceive  yourself,"  continued  Gerry;  her 
face  was  wan,  and  her  voice  retained  not  one  ca- 
dence of  its  wonted  melody.  "I  said  that  I  would 
marry  you,  but  I  say  to  you  now  that  I  will  never, 
never  be  your  wife.  Circumstances — a  concatena- 
tion of  them!  may  condemn  me  to  a  life  of  false- 
hood with  you.  But  to  my  latest  breath  I  will 
be  true  to  my  vows,  pronounced  to  heaven." 

Hamilton  gave  a  short,  disagreeable  laugh,  and 
answered : 

"The  partner  of  your  vows,  as  you  so  feelingly 
call  them,  did  not  seem  to  attach  any  particular 
value  to  them." 

"No,"  she  replied,  "he  did  not,  and  I  do  not  know 
what  may  come  of  it — what  I  may  have  to  suffer ; 
but  I  will  be  faithful  to  him  till  I  die.  Now  you 
know  all,"  she  said,  looking  at  him  searchingly; 
"do  you  still  desire  an  empty  marriage  ceremony?" 

Hamilton  looked  down.  He  would  have  been  a 
good-looking  man  but  for  an  expression  of  hard, 
material  force  denoting  nothing  like  firmness,  only 


162  UNCLE  PHIL. 

obstinacy.  He  remembered  how  this  girl  had 
scorned  him.  Is  love  compatible  with  hate?  He 
thought  it  was.  At  any  rate,  he  had  not  the  mag- 
nanimity now  she  was  in  his  power  to  give  her  up 
and  to  allow  her  to  depart  out  of  his  life.  Also 
there  was  another  feeling,  animosity  to  Smith,  to 
gratify.  His  had  been  the  hand  to  set  the  ball  in 
motion  which  had  caused  the  trouble  between  Ger- 
aldine  Southampton  and  her  lover,  and  now  were 
he  to  go  away  and  let  matters  take  their  natural 
course,  the  two  he  had  been  at  so  much  pains  to 
separate  would  again  come  together.  He  hated 
Smith.  Some  animals  are  born  to  fight — and  so  are 
some  men.  And,  come  what  might,  Smith  should 
never  have  her.  Slowly,  after  some  reflection,  he 
looked  up  and  answered : 

"For  reasons  of  my  own,  I  do.  I  will  take  you  on 
your  own  terms." 

She  answered  calmly,  a  breaking  heart  never 
rants : 

"Well,  I  have  no  more  to  say.  Make  what  ar- 
rangements you  choose  with  Mrs.  Southampton.  I 
promise  obedience — so  far  as  I  have  stated." 

She  almost  tottered  as  she  left  the  room.  No  one 
was  in  the  corridor.  She  stopped,  and,  clutching 
the  hand-rail,  she  stood  panting  as  if  her  breath 
were  leaving  her. 

As  if  in  mockery  of  her  grief  the  sun  was  at  his 
brightest  and  best,  flooding  the  world  with  glorious 


UNCLE  PHIL.  163 

radiance.  And  across  the  bay  the  distant  moun- 
tains, touched  by  a  magic  brush,  had  taken  on  the 
most  gorgeous  pigments.  The  restless  wavelets, 
pure  white,  sparkled  and  danced.  Even  the  lethargic 
fish  disported  themselves  in  frolic,  bending  their 
flexible  bodies  into  hoops,  and  merrily  tumbling 
over  and  over.  The  graceful  gulls,  with  outstretched 
wings,  were  circling  round  and  round  until  with  a 
sudden  scoop  they  darted  downward  to  pounce 
upon  the  unsuspecting  minnows,  and,  rising,  they 
would  utter  shrill  screams  as  their  prey  was 
snatched  from  them  by  the  larger  sort  of  gulls 
that  subsist  by  robbery.  Gerry,  to  shut  out  the 
sight,  pressed  her  hands  to  her  eyes,  and  her  swell- 
ing heart  asked  the  question:  "Oh,  why  of  all 
others  am  I  so  miserable?"  That  question  has  been 
asked  many  a  time  and  oft,  of  earth  and  sky — of 
God  and  man,  and  no  answer  has  come  out  of  the 
mysterious  silence.  Not  till  we  have  climbed  the 
Mountain  of  Expiation  and  purified,  not  hardened 
by  suffering  will  God  speak,  and  His  righteous  wis- 
dom be  made  clear  as  the  radiance  of  noonday. 


164  UNCLE  PHIL. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE    IRON    COLLAR. 

"But,  I  remember,  now  I  am  in  this  earthy  world; 
When  to  do  harm  is  often  laudable:    to  do  good, 
Sometimes  accounted  dangerous  folly." 

There  are  times  when  the  very  air  is  surcharged 
with  coming  woe,  and  Uncle  Phil,  unhappy  and  de- 
pressed more  than  usual,  wandered  restlessly  up 
and  down  the  corridor. 

In  vain  he  beseeched :  "Miss  Gerry,  chile,  open 
de  do'."  In  vain  he  called  upon  her  "ter  'member 
'bout  dem  bird  aigs,  an'  de  umerreller  hilt  ober  her 
when  she  wus  little  an'  obstroperlus,  in  Wirginny." 
The  closed  door  opened  not;  yet  instinctively  he 
hovered  near  like  a  parent  bird  watching  its  threat- 
ened nest.  He  tried  to  reassure  himself,  repeating 
over  and  over :  "Nuthin'  mo'  kin  happen,"  but  no 
consolation  came,  and  unceasingly  he  continued  his 
weary  beat.  The  long  day  dragged  to  a  close,  the 
shadows  of  evening  fell,  and,  planting  himself  near 
Gerry's  door,  he  muttered :  "I  won't  go  erway  wid- 
out  seein'  dat  chile,  ef  I  haster  stan'  here  all  nite." 

Presently  Mr.  Hamilton  came,  and  ordered  him 
to  light  the  lamps  in  the  parlor.  Of  late  this  duty 
had  been  neglected,  no  illumination  being  required 


UNCLE  PHIL.  165 

in  that  deserted  room.  Uncle  Phil  obeyed,  mutter- 
ing discontentedly:  "What's  dis  fer?" 

One  or  two  persons  came  whom  he  watched  nar- 
rowly, feeling  their  coming  denoted  no  good,  and 
he  almost  refused  to  believe  the  evidence  of  his 
eyes,  when  Mrs.  Southampton  made  her  appear- 
ance in  a  white  dress,  leaning  on  Mr.  Hamilton's 
arm.  After  seating  her,  he  walked  directly  to  Miss 
Southampton's  apartment ;  Uncle  Phil  following,  it 
was  instinct,  which  is  higher  and  holier — being 
heaven  sent — than  reason  with  its  labored  processes 
to  adduce  the  truth,  that  told  him  Gerry  was  in 
danger ;  and  nothing  but  death  could  now  keep  him 
away  from  her. 

Mr.  Hamilton  tapped  on  the  door,  saying  some- 
thing in  a  low  voice.  Gerry  at  once  came  forth. 
Hamilton  started  at  her  appearance.  She  was 
clothed  in  the  deepest  black.  In  place  of  a  bridal 
veil  her  draperies  of  heavy  crape  fell  in  somber 
folds. 

Awe-struck  in  despite  of  himselfj  Hamilton 
asked: 

"Why  do  you  not  wear  a  white  dress  ?" 

"Why  should  I  not  wear  mourning?"  she  asked. 
Then  pleadingly — as  the  drowning  catch  at  a  straw 
— she  raised  her  eyes  to  his  to  make  one  more,  the 
last,  appeal  against  a  fate  more  bitter  than  death : 
"It  is  not  too  late  yet,  and  I  implore  you  to  have 
mercy  on  yourself,  if  you  have  none  for  me.  Aban- 


166  UNCLE  PHIL. 

V 

don  this  worse  than  idle,  this  unholy  make-believe." 

"You  are  talking  nonsense,"  he  replied  coldly. 
"Take  my  arm." 

"I  do  not  wish  to  touch  you,"  she  said,  "I  can  walk 
by  your  side.  On  your  head  fall  the  sin  of  this." 

In  the  confusion  of  his  mind  Uncle  Phil  had  left 
unclosed  the  shutters,  and  when  Gerry  took  her 
place  near  the  chaplain,  resident  of  the  fort,  her 
eyes  fastened  with  strange  insistence  on  a  group  of 
Spanish  boys  looking  in  at  the  window,  and  with- 
out volition  she  became  absorbed  in  the  necessity 
of  counting  them.  Sometimes  when  the  mind  is 
tottering,  in  danger  of  ruin,  a  merciful  Providence 
interposes  with  a  mental  lethargy. 

She  heard  the  chaplain's  voice  say:  "I  require 
and  charge  you  both,  as  you  will  answer  at  the 
dreadful  day  of  judgment,  when  the  secrets  of  all 
hearts  shall  be  disclosed,  that  if  either  of  you  know 
any  impediment  why  you  may  not  lawfully  be 
joined  together  in  matrimony,  you  do  now  confess 
it"  but  it  was  as  a  voice  in  the  distance,  and  without 
meaning;  but  she  must  count  those  Spanish  boys — 
her  life,  her  reason,  depended  on  it.  But  it  was  so 
hard  to  count  them.  In  her  frantic  efforts  to  enum- 
erate she  even  paraphrased  "Tom  Brown  and  his  lit- 
tle Indian  boys ;"  one  little  Spanish  boy,  two  little 
Spanish  boys,  three  little  Spanish  boys;  but  there 
were  more  of  them,  and  she  had  lost  her  count  and 
must  begin  again.  Confusedly,  she  recommenced, 


UNCLE  PHIL.  167 

"One  little  Spaniard,  two  little  Spaniards."  "Why 
don't  you  bow  your  head?"  whispered  Hamilton. 
She  looked  at  him  in  a  bewildered  way ;  but  turned 
again  to  the  necessity  of  counting  the  Spanish 
boys.  There  seemed  to  be  more  of  them  than  ever ; 
yet  she  must  count  them — it  was  so  difficult — she 
was  almost  in  despair.  The  chaplain's  voice  now 
ceased,  and  her  stepmother  stood  before  her.  She 
recognized  Mrs.  Southampton,  and  this  knowledge 
gave  her  pleasure,  as  it  proved  to  her  that  she  had 
not  become  demented,  as  she  feared  she  had.  Quiet- 
ly she  submitted  to  Mrs.  Southampton's  kiss,  but 
her  words,  "I  congratulate  you,  Mrs.  Hamilton," 
dispelled  the  semi-trance  which  had  enchained  her 
faculties.  Then,  realizing  the  nature  of  the  awful 
sacrilege  she  had  committed,  without  a  word,  with- 
out a  groan,  she  reeled  and  fell  heavily  on  the  floor. 

Under  the  lamp-light  her  features  looked  white 
and  dead,  and  so  like  her  father's  that  Mrs.  South- 
ampton, filled  with  remorse,  shrieked :  "She  is  dead, 
and  'tis  I  who  have  killed  her !"  and  went  into  vio- 
lent hysterics. 

The  chaplain  and  his  assistant,  saying  something 
about  "sending  a  physician,"  hastily  withdrew,  and 
Hamilton  rushed  out  for  help. 

Poor  Uncle  Phil,  raising  the  insensible  body  of 
Gerry  into  his  faithful  arms,  bore  her  without,  and, 
laying  her  prone  on  the  cool  night  sand,  knelt  beside 
her,  and,  clasping  his  aged  hands,  he  prayed  the  "ef- 


168  UNCLE  PHIL. 

fectual,  fervent  prayer,"  that  rises  to  the  throne  of 
God  and  is  always  answered  in  His  own  good  time 
and  way.  "Oh,  Lordy!  Oh,  Lordy!  hab  mussy  on 
dis  chile.  She  ain't  done  nuthin',  an'  she  is  one  ob 
de  Southamptons.  Wisit  it  all  on  ole  Phil,  but 
spa'r  dis  chile,"  words  failing  him,  he  repeated :  "Oh, 
Lordy !  Oh,  Lordy !"  wringing  his  hands. 

The  pure  salt  breeze  soon  did  its  work,  and",  Gerry 
opening  her  eyes  sat  up.  The  shrieks  of  her  step- 
mother were  filling  the  air  all  around ;  and,  recalled 
to  duty,  Gerry  said :  "Come,  Uncle  Phil,  we  must 
go  to  her." 

And  tenderly  all  through  the  night  she  ministered 
to  the  agonized,  shrieking  woman,  vainly  attempt- 
ing to  soothe  her;  but  not  until  morning  did  those 
frightful  shrieks  cease,  from  exhaustion,  and  she 
sank  into  a  troubled  sleep.  When  she  awakened,  it 
was  evident  her  feeble  life  had  received  its  death- 
blow. 

When  the  final  hour  comes  it  is  an  honest  one — 
illusions  fade,  deceptions  are  useless.  As  in  a  glass 
the  deeds  done  in  the  body  pass  in  review.  Clearly 
this  woman  now  saw  that  by  indolence  and  selfish- 
ness she  had  wrecked  her  own  life,  and,  worse  still, 
how  wretchedly  she  had  wronged  this  daughter  of 
the  husband  who  had  submitted  to  her  many  ex- 
actions without  a  harsh  word.  "Oh!  how  can  I 
meet  him?"  she  moaned.  "Geraldine!  oh,  Geral- 
dine,  won't  you  forgive  me — it  might  help  me  per- 


UNCLE  PHIL.  169 

haps,  if  anything  can  help  me — where  I  am  gong?" 

Gerry  was  silent.  Her  compact  writh  her  father 
had  in  effect  given  to  this  woman  her  bond  for  a 
pound  of  flesh,  which  had  been  demanded,  and 
rendered.  Did  not  her  lacerated,  bleeding  heart  still 
feel  the  torture  of  the  merciless  knife?  No,  she 
could  not  say,  truly,  that  she  forgave  her,  but  she 
spoke  to  her  gently,  saying :  "Try  to  sleep." 

"I  shall  soon  sleep,"  said  the  wretched  woman, 
writhing  in  her  agony,  "and  never  wake.  Oh !  won't 
you  forgive  me,  Geraldine — will  Robert's  daughter 
let  me  die  unforgiven?" 

There  was  resistless  power  in  that  loved  name. 
Her  father  had  forgiven  this  helpless  creature,  and 
she  must. 

"Yes,"  she  answered  briefly,  "I  forgive  you." 

With  this  assurance  the  dying  woman  reached 
out  for  Gerry's  hand,  and,  clinging  to  it,  passed  to 
eternity. 

Why  many  people  are  born  in  the  world  would 
be  a  subject  of  grave  doubt  were  we  not  confronted 
by  the  ensample  of  Pharaoh.  The  grand  designs  of 
the  Creator  are  far  removed  from  human  under- 
standing; we  can  only  say  what  is,  is  right. 

There  is  a  germ  of  superstition  in  all  strong  na- 
tures. Such  natures  will  struggle,  fight  against  ad- 
verse circumstances  until  the  feeling  comes  that 
these  adversities  are  brought  on  by  the  resistless 


170  UNCLE  PHIL. 

sweep  of  Destiny — that  Birnan  Wood  has  come  to 
Dunsinane. 

"They  have  tied  me  to  a  stake,  I  cannot  fly." 

Then  opposition  ceases,  and  they  with  dumb  pa- 
tience await  the  passing  of  the  storm,  kno^Ying 
that  in  the  natural  order  of  things,  after  the  night 
there  will  be  morning. 

Gerry  felt  herself  to  be  in  the  toils,  and  without 
means  to  extricate  herself ;  but  there  would  be  relief 
somehow  when  her  brothers  returned,  meanwhile 
she  must  "dr.ee  her  weird." 

She  listened  without  remonstrance  to  Hamilton's 
directions  to  make  preparations  for  leaving  Cali- 
fornia, the  land  of  all  others  so  dear  to  her. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "there  is  no  need  for  a  longer 
stay,  now  we  have  buried  the  old  girl." 

"I  will  not  allow  you,"  replied  Gerry,  in  low 
distinct  tones,  "to  use  such  terms  in  speaking  of 
the  lady  who  had  the  honor  of  being  my  father's 
wife." 

"How  are  you  going  to  prevent  it,"  he  asked  with 
a  wicked  sneer,  "if  such  should  be  my  pleasure?" 

"If  you  repeat  it,"  she  answered,  in  the  same  low 
tone,  "I  shall  chastise  you." 

Hamilton  glanced  at  her  with  an  ugly  expression. 
There  was  no  flush  on  her  face,  hardly  defiance,  but 
so  much  steady  resolution  that  involuntarily  he 
glanced  at  her  well-formed  hands,  and  rounded 


UNCLE  PHIL.  171 

arms,  denoting  the  strength,  which  always  accom- 
panies perfect  symmetry. 

"My  bonny  bride  is  particularly  suave  of  speech," 
he  observed  with  a  forced  laugh. 

"I  am  no  bonny  bride,"  she  answered  quickly, 
"and  you  would  do  well  for  yourself  to  leave  me 
here.  I  can  provide  for  myself  and  Uncle  Phil," 
an  expression  of  loathing  crossed  her  face.  "The 
money  you  stole  from  my  dead  father  you  can  keep 
— were  it  millions,  it  would  be  a  small  price  to  pay 
for  my  freedom." 

A  dark  flush  mantled  his  cheek.  His  was  a  cold 
temperament,  scarcely  warmer  than  that  of  a  fish ; 
and  it  may  be  truly  said  that  in  this  affair  he  had 
acted  without  counting  the  cost  of  what  now  prom- 
ised to  be  an  expensive  fancy.  Previous  to  the 
meeting  with  Colonel  Southampton's  daughter  he 
would  merely  have  smiled  at  the  idea  of  woman's 
love  affecting  his  life.  But  her  gay,  brilliant  beauty, 
her  musical  voice,  her  clear  ringing  laugh,  attracted 
him.  And  then  what  charm  was  there  in  her  frank 
unrestrained  manner — to  others.  To  him,  when 
they  first  met,  she  had  shown  dislike  and  scorn. 
There  is  a  noble  gem  which  pales  at  the  approach 
of  poison;  also  there  are  some  beings  gifted  or 
cursed  with  such  a  high- wrought  nervous  organiza- 
tion as  to  involuntarily  recoil  from  an  inimical 
presence.  The  wound  she  had  inflicted  on  his  self- 


172  UNCLE  PHIL. 

love  stirred  within  him  deeper  depths  than  did  his 
admiration  for  her. 

It  was  unworthy  of  him,  as  it  is  of  any  man,  to 
war  against  a  woman — she  was  created  the  weaker 
vessel  and  dependent  on  man  for  her  protection — 
yet  in  his  pursuit  of  the  dual  object,  revenge  and 
possession,  he  never  paused,  but  hurried  over  the 
miry  ground  without  asking  himself  what  he 
would  do  with  the  bright,  beautiful  bird  when 
caught.  She  was  soaring  high  in  the  heavens,  her 
jingling  bells  and  flowing  jesses  were  far  above  his 
reach  until  an  untoward  earthward  swoop  placed 
her  in  the  'fowler's  hands. 

That  she  would  beat  her  wings  against  her  cage 
and  struggle  against  captivity  he  expected ;  but  this 
bitter  hostility,  which  he  now  saw  would  be  as  im- 
placable as  the  grave,  almost  terrified  him. 

Still  the  victory  was  his !  He  had  yet  to  learn  that 
some  victories  are  more  disastrous  than  the  most 
inglorious  defeat,  and  there  was  decision  in  his 
voice  as  he  replied : 

"No,  notwithstanding  the  unusual  amenities  of 
our  new  life,  I  do  not  choose  to  give  you  up,  or  let 
you  out  of  my  sight,  as  you  seem  most  anxious  for. 
Are  you  meditating  the  coup  of  a  divorce,"  he  asked 
insolently,  "to  let  that  fellow  Smith  in?" 

A  moment  passed  before  Gerry  answered.  In 
many  things  she  had  the  pure  innocence  of  a  child, 
and  this  avenue  of  escape  was  one  she  had  never 


UNCLE  PHIL.  173 

dreamed  of,  and  when  it  was  presented  to  her  mind 
there  was  a  terrible  temptation  to  free  herself,  but 
it  quickly  passed — she  was  her  father's  daughter, 
and  sister  to  South  and  Fred,  and  she  dared  not 
drag  their  honorable  name  into  a  divorce  court — 
freedom  for  her  could  not  come  this  way.  But  it 
was  incumbent  on  her  to  make  a  stinging  reply. 

"You  are  gratuitously  impertinent.  Did  I  not 
tell  you  that  Mr.  Smith  went  away  to  avoid  me,  and 
is  it  likely  that  he  would  care  for  me  now  after  my 
disgraceful  entanglement  with  you?  He  does  not 
want  me." 

"Upon  my  word!"  said  Hamilton,  his  torpid 
blood  boiling.  "You  are  candid  enough.  It  seems 
then  that  my  honor  lies  wholly  in  Smith's  indif- 
ference, not  in  your  virtue." 

"Silence!  Your  honor,  as  you  call  it,  is  safe 
enough,  connected  as  it  is  with  the  name  of  South- 
ampton. But  for  that,"  she  burst  out  passionately, 
"there  is  no  wickedness  I  would  not  perpetrate  to 
be  revenged  on  you.  You  have  blighted  my  life! 
Whatever  pleasant  thing  the  future  might  have 
brought  me  after  the  loss  of  my  father  you  have 
destroyed.  And  I  tell  you  now  that  my  hatred  of 
you  is  of  the  kind  that  will  never  sleep,  and  never 
know  variableness  or  shadow  of  change.  Of  my 
own  will  I  will  never  speak  to  you,  and  I  will  close 
my  eyes  rather  than  look  upon  you.  Now  take  me, 
or  leave  me,  as  you  choose," 


174  UNCLE  PHIL. 

"You  will  go  with  me,"  he  replied  with  sullen  de- 
fiance, "but  old  Phil  shall  be  left  here." 

"Uncle  Phil  shall  go  with  me.  I  will  not  be  sepa- 
rated from  him,"  she  said  imperiously. 

Hamilton  left  the  room  muttering :  "Things  do 
not  look  flowery,  but  perhaps  they  will  go  smoother 
when  I  get  her  away  from  this  infernal  country, 
where  men  are  plenty  and  women  are  few,  and  wor- 
shiped like  angels.  In  the  state  of she  will  find 

her  level." 


UNCLE  PHIL.  175 


CHAPTEE  XIV. 

SORROW'S   CROWN   OF   SORROWS. 

"Comforts  in  Heaven,  and  we  are  on  the  earth, 
Where  nothing  lives  but  crosses,  cares  and  grief." 

"There  is  where  I  was  born,"  said  Hamilton,  in- 
dicating a  large,  old-fashioned  brick  dwelling  at 
the  terminus  of  a  winding  avenue,  bordered  by 
handsome  pine  trees. 

Gerry  was  silent;  she  never  raised  her  eyes. 

"Have  you  made  up  your  mind  to  be  haughty  and 
disagreeable  to  my  relations?"  he  asked  angrily. 
"I  tell  you  it  won't  do." 

Still  there  were  neither  word  nor  sign;  he  had 
as  well  have  spoken  to  a  lay-figure.  The  carriage 
had  now  stopped. 

"Get  out,"  he  said  sharply,  "unless  you  prefer  to 
be  driven  to  the  stables." 

Without  a  word  Gerry -descended,  not  choosing 
to  see  the  hand  he  extended  to  assist  her,  and  fol- 
lowed him  into  the  house,  and  into  the  parlor, 
where  some  persons  were  seated,  to  whom  she  was 
introduced  by  Hamilton,  who  said:  "Here  is  my 
mother.  And  my  sister-in-lawT,  my  brother  Edward, 
and  their  children." 

There  was  a  general  rising,  with  a  movement  of 


176  UNCLE  PHIL. 

welcome  toward  Gerry,  which  her  manner  checked 
at  once.  She  merely  raised  her  eyes,  and  for  a  very 
short  moment  glanced  at  the  group  en  bloc,  with 
the  slightest  possible  bend  of  her  head.  Her  lips 
then  opened,  but  it  was  only  to  say :  "I  wish  to  be 
shown  to  a  room." 

"Supper  will  soon  be  ready,"  said  Hamilton's 
mother,  after  an  embarrassing  pause. 

Without  noticing  this  observation,  Gerry  re- 
peated :  "I  wish  to  be  shown  to  a  room." 

There  was  another  embarrassing  pause,  and  a 
servant  was  called  to  act  as  a  guide  to  Gerry,  who 
quitted  the  room  without  saying  another  word. 

In  the  silence  that  followed  Hamilton  felt  de- 
jected and  uncomfortable. 

By  a  course  of  scheming,  and  unworthy  conduct, 
and  trampling  on  every  manly  instinct,  he  had  suc- 
ceeded in  joining  this  girl's  life  with  his,  but  the 
result  had  only  gone  to  show  the  sinfulness  of  sin- 
ning. In  effect  they  were  separated  by  a  gulf  so 
wide  and  deep  that  it  never  could  be  bridged.  Yet 
there  was  a  sort  of  savage  triumph  in  the  reflection 
he  had  separated  her  from  Smith.  He  would  pre- 
fer to  see  her  dead  than  in  the  possession  of  that 
man.  And,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  Gerry's  firm, 
simple,  good-faith  had  won  his  admiration. 

The  first  to  speak  was  Hamilton's  brother  Ed- 
ward, and  if  his  words  were  offensive,  his  tones  were 
still  more  so. 


UNCLE  PHIL.  177 

"Our  new  relation  seems  to  be  a  very  affable  per- 
son." 

"Go  to  the  devil,"  said  Hamilton  angrily. 

"What's  the  matter,  old  man,  that  you  are  in 
such  a  bad  humor?  Knowing,  as  we  all  did,  that 
you  were  a  fish  which  would  require  a  deal  of  catch- 
ing, the  news  of  your  marriage  was  a  surprise  to 
us — an  agreeable  surprise — and  we  were  prepared 
to  lavish  upon  your  bride  the  wealth  of 
our  united  affection.  Pardon  me  for  saying  this 
effort  on  our  part  has  the  appearance  of  being  su- 
perfluous. Evidently  we  have  not  carried  the  heart 
of  the  newest  Mrs.  Hamilton  by  storm."  This 
brother  of  Hamilton  had  the  reputation,  and  was 
proud  of  it,  of  being  able  to  make  himself  as  com- 
prehensively disagreeable  as  was  humanly  possible. 

The  angry  flush  did  not  leave  Hamilton's  face, 
though,  after  a  pause,  he  decided  to  answer  pacifi- 
cally : 

"The  lady  you  speak  of  is  in  affliction.  She  has 
recently  lost  her  father,  and  her  stepmother  has 
just  died,  and  it  is  not  my  opinion  that  you  will 
now  or  ever  be  favored  with  her  regard,  which  is 
not  a  matter  of  much  consequence,  as  my  stay  here 
will  not  be  longer  than  to  arrange  the  business  be- 
tween us."  He  then  went  over  to  his  mother  and 
began  a  conversation  with  her. 

Gerry  had  been  some  weeks  at  Hamilton's  home, 
and,  persistently  declining  any  intercourse  with  the 


178  UNCLE  PHIL. 

family,  when  she  was  not  shut  up  in  her  own  room 
she  wandered  through  the  grounds,  followed  by 
Uncle  Phil. 

"Miss  Gerry,  honey,"  he  asked  her  one  day,  "don't 
it  neber  'repear  strange  ter  y'u  what  makes  folkes 
live  erway  from  de  ocean?"  Ah,  the  ocean! 

When  the  keynote  is  struck  all  the  burial  places 
of  memory  give  up  their  dead,  and  forms  and 
scenes  long  laid  to  rest  troop  back,  bringing  balm 
to  the  heart  and  mind  in  their  sorest  need.  Stars 
may  fall  and  a  cloud  pass  across  the  face  of  the 
moon,  but  so  long  as  mind  and  memory  survive  in 
their  integrity,  there  remains  a  paradise  out  of 
which  no  one  can  be  driven.  And  Gerry  was  a  child 
again,  wandering  round  the  beach,  that  old  familiar 
playground.  How  well  she  remembered  the  many 
times  she  had  been  drenched  while  stooping  for  a 
bright-hued  shell  and  not  observing  the  incoming 
wave.  She  had  only  laughed,  and  shaking  her  tiny 
fists  at  the  restless  water,  which  was  laughing,  too, 
had  dared  it  to  "do  it  again." 

And  how  many  marvels  of  the  deep  had  she  seen? 
Once  there  was  a  whale,  which,  wounded  and 
chased  by  the  harpooners,  had  in  its  blind  rage 
swam,  fighting,  shoreward,  to  be  stranded  on  the 
beach,  where,  with  a  hoarse  bellow,  it  died.  And 
then  she  had  joined  the  body  of  her  fellow-towns- 
people in  their  hurry  to  witness  the  wonder  before 
the  oil-makers  began  with  their  mutilation  j  and. 


UNCLE  PHIL.  179 

aided  and  abetted,  she  had  sprung  up  on  the  dead 
leviathan  and  walked  upward  full  sixty  feet  to  its 
head;  then,  lowering  herself  into  the  wide-open 
mouth,  she  had  cut  off  a  piece  of  the  flexible  bone 
for  a  relic.  Another  time  she  had  seen  a  live  shark, 
of  the  man-eating  sort,  that  had  in  its  greed  for 
prey  ventured  too  near  the  shore  for  safety,  and 
by  a  dash  of  the  waves  had  been  borne  in  and  left 
high  and  dry  on  the  sand,  and  there  it  lay,  glancing 
with  its  wicked  eyes  and  snapping  with  its  cruel 
jaws  at  the  group  of  excited  gesticulating  fishermen 
desiring  to  encompass  its  capture;  the  time  was 
short,  another  wave  might  restore  it  to  its  native  ele- 
ment in  safety — the  sea  gives  and  takes.  And 
Gerry  in  her  willingness  to  help,  which  was  one  of 
her  chief  characteristics,  advised  "Bring  lassoes." 
Her  suggestion  received  admiring  and  respectful  at- 
tention, and  elicited  the  following  affirmatives 
from  a  jury  of  mixed  nationalities :  "Si  senorita." 
"Yes,  missie  Gerry."  "Yar,  dat's  goode."  "Yis 
marm."  "  Jes  lesten  to  the  queean,"  etc.,  etc.  Lassoes 
galore,  made  of  the  stout  bull's  hide,  were  soon  at 
hand,  and  the  creature  was  securely  noosed  and 
dragged  along  in  triumph,  even  as  the  Komans  ex- 
ulted over  Jugurtha  in  chains,  to  a  doom  of  torture 
of  which  Gerry  had  no  conception,  or  her  tender 
heart  would  have  procured  for  the  monster  a  speedy 
death,  and  as  painless  as  might  be. 
And  some  of  her  devotees  among  the  fisher-folk 


180  UNCLE  PHIL. 

caught  and  brought  on  shore  and  deposited  in  the 
corridor  of  the  Custom  House  a  cuttle  fish  for  her 
especial  inspection.  And,  too  venturesome  in  her 
curiosity,  she  was  saved  from  the  reach  of  a  terrible 
arm  flung  out  to  her  by  the  quick  movement  of 
Kanaka  Jack  in  throwing  her  backward.  And  he 
sorrowed  days  and  nights  over  this  cruel  necessity. 
Alas,  she  had  with  a  red-hot  iron  touched  off  one  of 
the  guns  of  the  revenue  schooner  Frolic,  thereby 
making  a  great  noise  in  the  world,  as  one  of  the 
officers  said  to  her.  Then  she  took  command  of 
the  trim  little  vessel,  which  she  sailed  all  round  the 
bay,  and  brought  back  to  anchorage.  And  on  the 
occasion  of  her  visit  to  the  war  sloop  Vincennes 
Captain  Hunter  in  an  ill-considered  moment  struck 
colors  and  surrendered  the  ship  to  her.  She  im- 
mediately assumed  command  and  had  all  hands 
piped  up  for  grog  and  a  holiday,  much  to  the  an- 
noyance of  the  aforesaid  Captain  Hunter,  the 
amusement  of  the  ward  room  officers,  and  the  hilari- 
ous delight  of  the  "hands."  Gerry  sighed,  it  seemed 
so  sad  that  all  such  halcyon  days  were  gone,  gone, 
utterly  gone. 

"It  is  not  possible  for  every  one  to  live  by  the 
ocean,  Uncle  Phil,"  she  replied  after  a  long  pause. 
"But  things  do  appear  triste  away  from  it." 

"Triste !"  echoed  Uncle  Phil,  indignant  at  the  in- 
sufficiency of  the  expression.  "Gewhillikins !  dat 
ain't  no  name  fer  it.  In  dis  place  y'u  carn't 


UNCLE  PHIL.  181 

see  nothin'.  Y'u  carn't  he-ar  nuthin'!  Y'u  carn't 
eben  breave  good,  quinciquonically" — he  stopped, 
seeing  a  servant  approaching,  bearing  a  salver  with 
a  card  on  it,  which  he  received,  and,  after  handing 
it  to  Gerry,  stood  at  attention,"  while  she  glanced 
at  it.  Her  heart  swelled,  and  tears  came  into  her 
eyes  as  she  read : 

Charles  Wood,  U.  S.  A. 

"Show  the  gentleman  here,"  she  said. 

At  the  sight  of  Gerry,  Captain  Wood  stopped 
short,  shocked,  and  pained  beyond  measure  at  her 
altered  appearance. 

"You  would  not  have  known  me,  Charley?"  she 
asked,  rising  to  meet  him,  and  holding  out  her 
hand.  "Little  did  either  of  us  dream  when  we  last 
parted  how  we  should  next  foregather." 

"I  would  know  you  anywhere,  or  in  any  guise," 
he  answered.  "But  good  heavens!"  the  muscles 
of  his  face  quivering  with  emotion,  "how  you  must 
have  suffered." 

"Suffered?"  she  replied.  "Why,  no  victim  of  a 
sixteenth-century  tyrant  'put  to  the  question'  ever 
suffered  such  heart-breaking  anguish." 

"We  had  been  out  among  the  hills,"  he  said, 
"chasing  hostile  Indians,  without  coming  up  with 
them  for  several  weeks,  when  the  intelligence 
reached  me  of  the  calamity  of  your  father's  death. 
Though  I  thought  Paul  Smith  was  with  you  and 
privileged  to  sorrow  with  your  sorrow,  I  could  not 


182  UNCLE  PHIL. 

keep  away  from  you  in  your  trouble,  and  obtained 
leave  of  absence.  Judge  of  my  dismay  to  learn 
when  I  arrived  at  Bonito  of  the  accumulated  mis- 
fortunes which  had  been  showered  upon  you.  Your 
father  dead — your  stepmother  dead — and  Paul 
Smith  away — and  strangest  of  all,  you  married  to 
that  fellow  Hamilton,  whom  I  knew  you  despised — 
and  gone,  no  one  knew  where.  You  have  no  idea  of 
the  labor  it  has  been  to  find  you.  Tell  me  how  it  all 
happened — this  devil's  work." 

It  was  some  moments  before  Gerry  could  find 
voice  to  reply,  and  then  it  was  in  the  low  quivering 
tones  of  sadness  almost  without  hope. 

"Can  I  tell  you,  Charley, 

"'How  happy  some  o'er  other  some  can  be. 

why  the  earth  opens  and  swallows  up  some, 
and  why  the  lightning  strikes  some  others? 
But  sit  down  and  I  will  try  to  tell  you. 
How  can  I  explain?"  she  said  wearily.  "Every- 
thing went  wrong.  My  father  died — Paul  Smith 
had  gone — I  was  too  easily  won — he  was  tired  of 
me." 

"Stop !"  cried  young  Wood,  "you  are  appropriat- 
ing unnecessary  distress.  It  is  impossible  that 
Smith  voluntarily  gave  you  up !" 

"He  did  though,"  persisted  Gerry. 

"  To  be  honest  as  the  world  goes  is  to  be  one  picked  out  of  ten 
thousand." 


UNCLE  PHIL.  183 

She  would  keep  nothing  back.  Indeed  it  seemed 
a  slight  solace  to  tell  all  to  Charley,  and,  though 
shivering  with  pain,  she  went  on :  "It  was  just  the 
morning  after  you  had  left  Bonito  that  Mrs.  South- 
ampton sent  for  me.  She  said  a  great  deal.  I  would 
not  have  minded  what  she  said,  only  she  made  me 
see  things  different  from  what  they  had  ever  seemed 
before.  I  do  not  think  I  would  have  cared  much 
that  my  life  had  been  devoted  wholly  to  my  own 
pleasure,  which  it  had  been,  but  when  she  spoke 
of  papa's  eyes  being  opened  to  that  which  every  one 
was  talking  about,  the  disgusting  way  I  had  been 
pursuing  Paul — that  is  the  way  she  put  it — and 
that  he  would  be  intensely  mortified  and  angry  with 
me.  And  that  Paul  himself  would  occasion  an  ex- 
cuse to  break  with  me,  and  he  did,  Charley.  He  in- 
sulted me — grossly  insulted  me!  He  roughly  told 
me  that  I  was  mercenary,  and  accused  me  to  my 
face  of  caring  only  for  you.  And,  Charley,"  she 
burst  out  vehemently,  "he  had  the  insolence  to  ask 
me  if  you  had  not  kissed  me  when  you  went  away." 

"What  answer  did  you  make  him?"  inquired  the 
young  officer  in  a  low  tone. 

"What  answer  was  left  me  to  make  but  to  order 
him  to  begone.  And  he  took  me  at  my  word,  scarce- 
ly offering  an  apology.  Then  came  the  horrible 
shock  of  papa's  death — and  no  human  came  near  us 
in  our  desolation  save  Hamilton  only.  I  do  not 
know  why,  but  Mrs.  Southampton  had  always  liked 


184  UNCLE  PHIL. 

him.  And  I  was  so  bound  by  a  promise  made  to 
papa  to  be  kind  in  all  things,  and  to  humor  her ;  and 
nothing  would  serve  her  but  my  marriage.  Indeed, 
I  was  so  tortured  that  I  could  not  have  been  in  my 
right  mind.  I  did  resist  all  I  could.  I  told  him 
that  he  was  odious  to  me — but  he  took  me  any- 
how." 

It  was  now  all  clear  to  Captain  Wood.  Gerry 
had  been  the  victim  of  a  nefarious  plot  concocted 
by  Hamilton  and  Mrs.  Southampton.  Smith  also 
had  been  tampered  with  by  arousing  his  jealousy — 
and  what  a  poor  fool  he  must  have  been  not  to  see 
that  Gerry  was  as  true  as  an  angel  from  heaven. 

"Poor  sufferer,"  he  said  with  infinite  tenderness. 
"But  you  are  not  friendless,  in  the  absence  of 
Southampton  and  Frederic  I  am  here  to  protect 
you." 

Gerry  looked  at  him  wistfully,  but  she  answered 
resolutely : 

"I  thank  you,  Charley,  more  than  I  can  say,  but 
your  good  will  outruns  your  discretion.  I  have  very 
little  knowledge  of  a  censorious  world,  but  I  have 
no  need  to  be  told  that  you  are  not  a  suitable  cham- 
pion in  the  rupture  of  such  shackles  as  bind  me. 
I  am  tied  hand  and  foot,  but  I  look  for  release  in 
the  return  of  my  brothers — otherwise  the  life  I  am 
leading  would  be  insupportable." 

Captain  Wood  looked  at  Gerry  attentively.    His 


UNCLE  PHIL.  185 

heart  ached  to  mark  the  utter  change  which  had 
been  wrought  in  her. 

The  bright  peerless  girl  he  knew  had  been  forced 
single-handed  into  an  engagement  against  the  Le- 
gions of  Sorrow  and  been  vanquished.  Her  whole 
person  bore  traces  of  the  dreadful  struggle.  Her 
bonny  head  had  been  lowered  to  the  dust  and  still 
drooped — the  lissom  body  seemed  shrunken — the 
quick  feet  dragged  slowly — the  sparkling  eyes 
grown  dull — her  very  identity  seemed  gone,  but  in 
this  faithful  gallant  young  fellow's  heart  she  was 
Gerry  still,  the  one  woman  he  cared  for.  And  he 
would  cheerfully  die  to  restore  to  her  the  lost  hap- 
piness, and  life  would  not  be  altogether  vain  if  by 
any  personal  sacrifice  he  could  render  her  less  un- 
happy. 

"Dona  Gerry,  it  is  hideous  to  me  to  see  you  so  cir- 
cumstanced, and  in  the  absence  of  your  brothers  I 
am  your  nearest  friend.  Would  you  not  allow  me  to 
act  for  you  were  I  a  married  man?  There — is — 
that  is,"  he  stammered,  the  red  blush  flushing  his 
cheek.  "I  have  a  cousin  in  Virginia — I  don't  know 
— but  I  think — perhaps — she  might  consent  to 
marry  me  were  I  to  ask  her.  Would  you  not  then 
accept  the  refuge  of  my  roof?" 

Gerry  looked  at  him  with  grave  tenderness — it 
would  not  be  going  too  far  to  say — very  like  a 
mother  looking  on  a  much  loved  son. 

"Charley,  there  is  no  doubt  about  it,  you  are  the 


186  UNCLE  PHIL. 

dearest  boy  in  all  the  world,  and  you  tempt  me.  But 
it  would  be  hardly  fair  to  the  Virginia  cousin,  and  I 
repeat  to  you  I  am  manacled  with  no  hope  of  es- 
cape except  through  my  brothers — unless  Provi- 
dence should  free  me  by  death." 

The  young  officer  shivered ;  it  did  not  seem  pos- 
sible to  him  that  she  could  mean  her  own  death — 
Heaven  could  not  be  cruel  enough  for  that!  She 
must  mean  Hamilton's  death. 

"Well,"  he  answered,  "you  shall  be  free  from 
Hamilton — I  will  kill  him !" 

"And  so  bring  dishonor  on  me,"  she  said  sternly. 

"Oh !  forgive  me,"  he  cried.  "Your  distress  mad- 
dens me.  You  never  would  see  it,"  he  continued  pas- 
sionately, "but  I  have  loved  you !  do  love  you !  and 
ever  shall  love  you  with  a  love  so  true  that  I  would 
bear  any  pain  to  know  that  you  were  happy.  That 
man  Smith  was  never  worthy  of  you !  In  his  cold- 
blooded, suspicious,  jealous  nature  he  was  tricked 
by  the  villain  Hamilton  into  doubting  you.  Had  I 
been  in  his  stead,  blessed  with  the  assurance  of 
your  love,  do  you  think  that  man  or  devil  could  have 
infused  into  me  doubts  of  you?" 

The  tears  rolled  down  Gerry's  cheeks,  and  she 
replied,  slowly,  as  if  utterance  hurt  her: 

"Charley,  I  am  pained  to  hear  this;"  and  looking 
upward,  as  if  protesting  against  the  hard  decrees 
of  Heaven,  she  continued:  "And  must  it  always 
be  that  true  love  shall  bear  such  bitter  fruit,  and  is 


UNCLE  PHIL.  187 

it  a  sin  to  be  burnt  out?  Can  those  only  be  happy 
whose  heart-throbs  make  feeble  demonstrations? 

"But  compared  to  my  situation,  how  enviable  is 
yours.  In  the  rush  of  man's  work  relief  must  come. 
While  I,  Prometheus-like,  am  chained  to  a  rock  for 
vultures  to  eat  away  my  heart.  Oh !  if  I  could  only 
climb  mountains,  swim  rivers,  fell  trees,  or  work  at 
any  hard  labor  to  occupy  the  mind  and  tire  the 
body,  I  could  wait  for  South  and  Fred  with  more 
patience.  But  God  help  me !  I  am  only  a  woman. 
You  must  go  now,  Charley — it  is  bitter — but  I  must 
say  it — I  may  not  see  you  again.  You  have  spoken 
words  that  we  both  must  forget.  But  as  a  sister 
loves  a  dear  brother  so  I  do  and  ever  shall  love  you 
— or  rather  as  a  mother  loves  her  only  son,  I  feel 
so  old — my  youth  is  gone,"  she  placed  her  hands 
within  his,  "and  now,  my  more  than  brother — fare- 
well." 

Obediently  the  young  officer  left  her.  The  tears 
that  rolled  down  his  cheeks  did  not  shame  his  man- 
hood. His  heart  was  rent  with  anguish  more  for 
the  sorrows  of  the  woman  he  loved  than  for  his 
own.  He  never  saw  her  again.  His  gallant  young 
life  was  soon  to  go  out  at  Ball's  Bluff,  bravely 
charging  at  the  head  of  his  regiment.  With  his 
death-wound  his  voice  had  a  triumphant  ring  as  he 
shouted:  "Forward,  men!" — his  last  command. 
But  he  died  happy,  knowing  that  "in  the  resurrec- 
tion they  neither  marry  nor  are  given  in  marriage." 


188  UNCLE  PHIL. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

"ME    TER   BE   WHOOPPED!" 

"We  will  not  from  the  helm  to  sit  and  weep, 
But  keep  our  course,  though  the  rough  winds  say  'No.' " 

Gerry  sat  for  some  time  filled  with  the  saddest 
thoughts  without  perceiving  the  absence  of  Uncle 
Phil — a  feeling  of  delicacy  had  caused  him  to  with- 
draw during  her  interview  with  Captain  Wood — 
missing  him,  she  at  once  rose  to  ascertain  his  where- 
abouts. Some  inner  sense  had  warned  her  it  were 
best  to  keep  watch  over  the  old  man.  And  that 
same  inner  sense  guided  her  in  the  choice  of  a  path 
that  lead  to  the  rear  of  the  mansion-house.  An 
oblique  turn  suddenly  presented  to  her  view  the 
domestic  machine  in  movement.  The  white  part  of 
the  family  seemed  to  be  almost  as  busy  in  directing 
as  the  black  part  was  in  executing  the  directions. 

Hamilton's  brother  Edward  who,  seemingly  had 
just  returned  from  a  ride  on  horseback,  with  his 
riding- whip  still  in  his  hand,  stood  watching  the 
operations,  and  not  infrequently  making  a  remark 
of  altogether  disproportioned  severity. 

Some  one  had  given  Uncle  Phil  a  pair  of  shoes 
to  be  cleansed;  it  was  true  he  polished  his  own, 
feeling  it  to  be  necessary  in  order  to  present  a  suit- 


UNCLE  PHIL.  189 

able  appearance,  but  to  be  commanded  in  a  harsh 
tone  to  clean  a  pair  of  extremely  soiled  shoes  was 
an  indignity  that  cut  him  to  the  quick.  "Dess  like 
I  was  one  ob  y'u  common  low  down  niggers,"  was 
the  mental  comment  as  he  began  the  cleansing  proc- 
ess in,  it  must  be  confessed,  a  very  dilettante  man- 
ner. Edward  Hamilton's  angry  look  fell  upon  him. 
"Come  here,  you  old  scoundrel,"  he  ordered,  rais- 
ing his  whip. 

"My  Gawd !"  exclaimed  Uncle  Phil  in  a  voice  of 
agony,  "me  ter  be  whoopped !" 

But  as  often  happens,  at  the  supreme  moment  suc- 
cor was  near. 

"When  the  need  is  highest,  help  is  nighest." 

There  was  a  sound  like  that  of  a  gale  at  sea,  and 
with  blazing  eyes  and  teeth  set,  Gerry  caught  the 
whip  before  it  could  descend  on  Uncle  Phil's  shrink- 
ing shoulders;  and  Edward  Hamilton  felt  himself 
to  be  in  the  grasp  of  a  Titan,  while  the  heavy  blows 
were  falling  like  rain  from  the  hot  swift  lash. 

"Woman ! — fiend !"  he  gasped,  struggling  in  vain 
to  get  loose;  then  yelling  with  pain  he  shouted, 
"Murder!  help!" 

It  would  have  been  a  bold  thing  to  do  to  rescue 
him.  None  there  durst  attempt  it.  And  not  until 
he  had  received  what  he  would  himself,  under  differ- 
ent auspices,  have  called  "a  devil  of  a  whipping" 
did  Uncle  Phil's  young  lady  desist,  and  release  her 


190  UNCLE  PHIL. 

hold  upon  him.  Then  turning  to  the  group  of  her 
new  relations,  who  in  wondering  terror  were  hud- 
dled together — she  stood  like  a  tower  of  strength 
standing  four  square  to  every  wind  that  blows — 
and  said  in  accents  that  seemed  to  fall  from  iron, 
so  hard  and  inflexible  were  their  ring : 

"I  have  just  one  remark  to  make.  Uncle  Phil, 
my  father's  valued  friend,  and  mine,  is  old  and  un- 
accustomed to  labor,  and  it  is  my  will  that  he  shall 
not  be  called  on  to  perform  any  service.  Also, 
I  will  state  that  if  he  is  interfered  with  in  the  least 
I  will  flog  whoever  and  by  whom  it  is  done."  She 
then  began  to  walk  away. 

The  whip  wrhich  she  had  dropped  was  instantly 
seized  by  Edward  Hamilton,  who,  maddened  with 
pain  and  rage,  looked  about  him  for  a  victim. 

A  partly  foolish  boy  called  Ben  was,  or  rather 
had  been,  scouring  knives,  for  he  had  suspended  his 
employment  and  was  gazing  into  space,  with  his 
eyes  almost  bursting  from  their  sockets. 

"Come  here,  Ben,"  he  ordered. 

Gerry  instantly  returned,  and,  placing  herself  be- 
fore the  frightened  boy,  said : 

"I  cannot  allow  anyone  to  suffer  through  an  act 
of  mine.  Therefore,  I  will  have  to  make  common 
cause  with  Ben.  Whip  him  if  you  like,  but  for 
every  blow  you  give  him,  I  promise  you  ten." 

The  foiled  man,  with  an  imprecation,  turned 
away  and  walked  into  the  house,  followed  by  his 


UNCLE  PHIL.  191 

wife  and  mother.  Their  attempts  at  consolation 
were  rudely  repulsed. 

"This  must  not  get  out,"  he  said ;  "I  shall  be  dis- 
graced for  life !  Go  and  caution  the  negroes.  Say, 
if  it  is  only  hinted,  I  will  make  them  all  drink  sor- 
row by  the  cupful." 

This  task  was  undertaken  by  his  mother.  "Your 
Miss  Geraldine  was  only  in  fun.  She  was  playing 
with  your  Marse  Edward,"  she  stated  with  empha- 
sis to  Hannah,  the  cook,  in  the  hearing  of  all  the 
other  still  bewildered  servants. 

"Yes'm,  I  seed  she  wus.  Miss  Geraldine  kin  be 
mighty  funny  when  she  tries,"  was  the  politic  an- 
swer. 

Could  Edward  Hamilton  have  beheld  Colonel 
Southampton's  daughter  after  gaining  the  sanctu- 
ary of  her  room,  the  sight  of  her  self-abasement 
would  have  seemed  almost  the  equivalent  of  an  act 
of  indemnity. 

Heavily  she  dropped  on  a  chair,  the  crimson  flush 
dyeing  her  cheeks  with  a  blush  so  deep  that  it 
pained  her.  And  Lady  Macbeth's  apostrophe  to  the 
hands  which  "all  the  perfumes  of  Arabia  could  not 
sweeten,"  was  not  more  bitter  than  the  reflections 
over  her  own  which  she  regarded  as  having  been 
put  to  a  most  vile  use,  and  looking  with  positive 
aversion  on  the  tapering  fingers  she  murmured, 
"What  next  new  degradation  is  in  store  for  me,  I 
wonder?" 


192  UNCLE  PHIL. 

"Luncheon's  ready,  Miss  Geraldine,"  announced 
a  female  servant  tapping  at  the  door.  The  atten- 
tion of  this  girl  had  been  irresistibly  attracted  all 
along  by  the  want  of  deference  shown  by  "Miss  Ger- 
aldine ter  we  alls  white-folks;"  now  it  seemed  to 
her  that  the  stranger  was  no  mere  mortal,  and  the 
sable  hand-maiden  determined  to  secrete  herself 
that  very  night  in  the  bedroom  to  witness  the  un- 
dressing process,  to  see  if  there  were  not  wings 
somewhere. 

Luncheon!  Must  she  again  face  those  people? 
Yes,  there  was  no  help  for  it;  it  would  never  do  for 
them  to  suspect  her  humiliation. 

Slowly  she  rose,  without  elasticity,  almost  me- 
chanically like  bodies  of  wood  or  stone  are  trans- 
ported on  derricks,  and  descending  the  stairs  took 
her^place  at  the  table. 

The  several  pairs  of  eyes  which  glanced  at  her 
quickly,  almost  surreptitiously,  could  not  discern 
an  atom  of  change  in  her  consistently  haughty  silent 
demeanor,  suggesting  the  idea  that  she  was  in  the 
midst  of  a  party  of  strangers  for  the  first  time. 
The  aversion  with  which  she  had  been  regarded  by 
Hamilton's  family  now  had  taken  on  an  ingredient 
of  fear.  She  was  something  mysterious  and  alto- 
gether beyond  their  understanding,  and,  strange  as 
it  may  seem,  she  rose  in  their  respect. 

Hamilton  was  absent,  and  his  absence  appeared 
unnoticed  by  her. 


UNCLE  PHIL.  193 

The  luncheon  over,  she  walked  outward  and  seat- 
ed herself,  some  distance  from  the  house,  under  one 
of  the  large  pine  trees  where  she  habitually  passed 
much  of  her  time.  A  location  that,  although  um- 
brageous, would  not  seem  desirable  on  account  of 
its  resinous  nature — but  those  large  pine  trees  were 
some  reminder  of  her  old  home  in  California. 

Uncle  Phil  was  with  her.  He  had  definitely  made 
up  his  mind  to  separate  from  her  as  little  as  pos- 
sible, but  seeing  Hamilton  approaching  he  with- 
drew to  a  neighboring  pine,  and  spreading  his  ban- 
dana handkerchief  on  the  periwinkle,  seated  himself 
on  it,  and  gave  free  play  to  his  meditations  on  the 
great  desirability  of  Virginia  and  California  as 
places  of  residence. 

Hamilton's  face  wore  a  heavy  frown. 

"I  have  been  told,"  he  said  angrily,  "that  fellow 
Wood  was  here  this  morning." 

A  faint  sighing  of  the  light  breeze  that  rustled 
the  pine  needles  was  his  only  answer. 

"Did  you  not  hear  me?"  laying  his  hand  on  Ger- 
aldine's  shoulder. 

"Remove  your  hand,"  she  commanded. 

"Answer  me,"  he  said,  roughly. 

With  seemingly  little  effort  she  threw  off  his 
hand  as  one  might  toss  away  a  pebble.  "Touch  me 
again,  if  you  dare." 

How  strong  she  is,  passed  through  his  mind. 


194  UNCLE  PHIL. 

Folding  his  arms  he  asked :  "What  did  Wood  want 
here?" 

"To  see  me,  of  course,"  she  replied.  "You  can 
scarcely  imagine  that  he  came  to  see  you." 

"I  will  tell  you  what  it  is,"  he  rejoined  passion- 
ately, losing  the  calmness  of  judgment  which  be- 
longed to  him  and  only  deserted  him  in  his  rare 
moments  of  excitement  "My  object  in  bringing 
you  from  California  was  to  separate  you  from  your 
associations  there,  and  I'll  be  damned  if  you  shall 
have  any  of  it  here." 

Not  even  the  oath  from  him  could  excite  her.  She 
only  looked  at  him  contemptuously  while  saying : 

"I  really  do  not  see  how  it  is  in  your  power  to 
hinder  me  from  doing  as  I  like.  But  for  a  reason, 
entirely  disconnected  from  you,  I  am  not  likely  to 
see  Captain  Wood  again." 

"Because  he  loves  you,  and  has  told  you  so !"  he 
almost  screamed. 

"Yes,"  she  answered  laconically. 

He  stood  trembling  with  passion. 

"Woman,  have  you  no  shame?    No  decency?" 

"No,  not  sinice  my  life  has  been  connected  with 
yours.  You  can  now  go.  I  have  no  more  to  say  to 
you."  It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  disdainful 
haughtiness  of  her  tones.  She  would  not  have  spo- 
ken so  to  the  meanest  underling.  She  turned 
abruptly  from  him,  and  he  caught  the  glitter  of  a 
bracelet — she  was  in  the  deepest  mourning  yet  she 


UNCLE  PHIL.  195 

always  wore  it,  he  remembered  this  now,  his  mind 
being  abnormally  suspicious.  "Is  not  that  Smith's 
bracelet?"  he  demanded. 

"He  placed  it  on  my  arm,  certainly.  Take  it  off 
if  you  choose,"  she  said  ironically,  and  extended 
her  arm,  showing  the  secure  lock. 

"Where  is  the  key?"  he  asked  eagerly. 

"Look  for  it  in  the  Pacific  Ocean.  There  is  where 
he  threw  it."  And  turning  from  him,  she  gazed 
steadily  on  the  open  world  before  her,  as  if  trying  to 
decipher  some  cabalistic  characters  requiring  the 
closest  attention. 

Foiled  at  every  point,  Hamilton  walked  away 
muttering  savagely:  "Curse  the  Southamptons ; 
they  will  die  but  they  will  never  give  up ;  and  her 
resentment  to  me  will  last  to  the  end;  and  most 
persons  would  think  I  have  not.  drawn  a  matrimon- 
ial prize,  and  clearly  I  have  not,  in  regard  to  do- 
mestic felicity,  but  I  won  my  game.  I  am  no  worse 
than  other  men,  and  it  was  her  scorn  that  roused 
the  devil  in  me.  I  do  not  regret  what  I  have  done, 
nothing  can  take  away  from  me  the  satisfaction  of 
coming  between  her  and  Smith — and  ousting  Wood 
too." 

Not  till  twilight  did  Gerry  return  to  the  house. 
She  was  told  that  the  family  had  gone  to  some  tea- 
drinking.  "But  ole  Miss  she  done  lef  out  some 
supper  fer  y'u,"  communicated  the  girl — the  one 
who  had  been  curious  about  the  wings. 


196  UNCLE  PHIL. 

After  drinking  a  tumbler  of  milk,  Gerry  went 
into  the  parlor  and  listlessly  began  a  tour  of  in- 
spection of  the  pictures,  but  she  soon  desisted  as 
they  were  all  seemingly  portraits  of  the  Hainiltons. 
She  made  an  impatient  gesture,  and  quite  by  acci- 
dent her  hand  fell  against  the  keys  of  an  open  piano. 
She  started  at  the  discord.  She  had  loved  music, 
but  it  seemed  so  long  ago — that,  and  every  other 
pleasure  had  gone  out  of  her  life. 

"I  wonder  if  I  could  sing,"  she  murmured,  run- 
ning a  scale.  On  the  rack  was  a  book  of  songs,  and 
being  an  accomplished  musician,  she  began  playing 
the  accompaniments  and  singing,  turning  over  the 
leaves  as  they  came  until — was  it  there,  or  did  she 
unconsciously  change  into  an  old,  old  song  which 
had  been  a  favorite  of  her  father's — Highland 
Mary?  Her  voice  rose  loud  and  clear,  filling  the 
room  with  sweet,  sorrowful  strains,  almost  like  the 
wailing  of  a  seraphim,  in  celestial  sorrow  for  the 
human  love  which  weighs  like  lead  on  the  earthly 
soul  separating  it  from  its  God.  Louder  and  clearer 
rose  the  wailing  melody,  "And  still  within  my 
bosom's  core  shall  live  my  Highland  Mary,"  when, 
overcome  by  a  rush  of  feeling  she  dropped  from 
the  piano-stool  to  her  knees,  and  burying  her  face 
in  the  cushion,  she  broke  into  wild,  ungovernable 
lamentations  and  sobs,  such  as  might  rend  soul 
from  body. 

"Good  gracious !  Geraldine,"  cried  the  elder  Mrs. 


CNCLE  PHIL.  197 

Hamilton,  in  affrighted  tones,  "what  is  the  mat- 
ter?" 

At  these  words  Colonel  Southampton's  daughter 
raised  her  face,  every  feature  quivering,  and  blinded 
by  her  tears  it  took  an  instant  to  realize  that  the 
Hamiltons  en  masse  were  the  spectators  of  her  an- 
guish. With  a  supreme  effort,  such  as  was  Alva- 
rado's  leap  for  life,  she  collected  and  energized 
every  resource  of  an  indomitable  will  liberated — 
if  these  people  had  witnessed  her  debasement  they 
should  feel  no  triumph !  Without  precipitancy,  she 
rose,  and  confronted  her  enemies,  as  she  viewed 
them.  It  was  a  pitiful  sight  to  see  that  young  girl, 
standing  alone,  prepared  to  take  her  own  part,  but 
with  the  courage  of  her  race  she  struck  a  fierce 
blow  at  the  author  of  so  much  of  her  sorrow. 

"What  is  the  matter?  you  ask  me;  it  would  be 
more  to  the  purpose  if  you  asked  him,"  she  said, 
her  low,  inflexible,  imperious  tones  adding  a  thou- 
sandfold to  the  force  of  her 'words — the  mere  motion 
of  her  hand  toward  him  who  before  the  world 
passed  as  her  husband,  expressed  scorn.  "But  you 
would  not  get  the  truth.  You  shall  hear  it  from 
me.  That  creature  took  advantage  of  the  circum- 
stances, in  which  he  must  have  been  aided  by 
fiends,  to  force  me — I  was  driven! — to  stand  by 
his  side  before  a  minister  of  God  while  a  marriage 
service  was  read.  But  it  is  the  last  vestige  of  self- 
respect  remaining  to  me  that  I  am  not,  and  never 


198  UNCLE  PHIL. 

have  been,  his  wife.  Sooner  tban  become  such  I 
would  endure  to  have  my  limbs  lopped  from  my 
body.  I — I — know  not  how  to  free  myself  from 
him,  and  I  think  I  should  die  but  for  hope  of  the 
relief  that  the  coming  of  my  brothers  will  bring. 
Till  then  I  am  prepared  to  suffer,"  and  with  the 
step  of  an  empress,  not  uncrowned,  but  wearing  the 
imperial  diadem,  she  left  the  room. 

"O  son!"  cried  the  elder  lady,  "you  should  not 
have  done  this.  Marriage  is  a  divine  institution, 
and  it  is  wicked  to  enter  into  it" — here  Edward 
Hamilton  interrupting  his  mother,  quoted :  "With- 
out the  love  that  sanctifies  and  blesses  it." 

Hamilton  was  a  hardened  vessel,  and  outwardly 
did  not  flinch;  he  only  laughed  disagreeably  and 
said :  "I  can  imagine  pleasanter  things  than  hav- 
ing our  domestic  infelicities  proclaimed  on  the 
house-top,  as  it  were.  And  while  in  some  respects 
I  am  tired  enough  of  my  bargain,  in  other  respects 
I  am  not,  There  are  compensating  circumstances 
accompanying  the  privilege  of  calling  Colonel 
Southampton's  daughter  Mrs.  Hamilton — and  I 
don't  need  any  of  your  infernal  sympathy." 


UNCLE  PHIL.  199 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"A    LITTLE    CLOUD    OUT  OF    THE    SEA    LIKE    A 
MAN'S   HAND." 

'"Tis  not  the  trial  of  a  woman's  war, 
The  bitter  clamor  of  two  eager  tongues." 

The  small  speck  on  the  political  horizon  which 
had  been  long  viewed  by  many  without  serious  un- 
easiness suddenly  grew  into  gigantic  proportions, 
overshadowing  America  with  its  baneful  gloom, 
and  the  tempest  burst,  bringing  war — war  most 
direful — civil  war. 

Neighbors,  and,  sadder  still,  brothers,  conscien- 
tious, good  men,  took  opposite  sides.  Some  to 
support  the  flag  under  which  they  were  born.  Some 
to  aid  the  particular  section  of  their  birth ;  among 
the  latter  was  Hamilton,  who  armed  himself  to  sup- 
port the  cause  of  the  South. 

Geraldine's  only  comment  was :  "It  is  well.  Had 
you  flown  to  arms  in  defense  of  the  American  flag, 
under  which  I  have  grown  up  and  love  more  than 
my  life  every  one  of  its  stars  and  stripes,  I  might 
have  looked  on  you  as  one  of  its  defenders  and  so, 
perhaps,  have  despised  you  less.  But  now  there  is 
nothing  dear  to  me  which  your  hand  has  not  been 
turned  against." 

Hamilton  looked  at  her  with  an  odd  expression. 


200  UNCLE  PHIL. 

The  patient  dignity  of  her  bearing  alone  denoted 
the  bitter  wrongs  she  had  suffered,  and  while  he 
was  not  able  to  comprehend  the  high  elevation  of 
her  character,  yet  day  by  day  he  was  conscious  of  a 
desire  growing  within  him  to  win  her  love,  at  least 
her  good  will — and  her  unvarying  scorn  goaded 
him. 

"It  is  never  well,"  he  replied,  "to  waste  anything, 
and  you  really  might  be  more  economical  of  your 
words — I  am  quite  aware  of  your  sentiments  to- 
ward me.  But  speak  your  mind  you  will,  if  the 
devil  stands  at  the  door." 

"Don't  you  think,"  she  said  with  calmness,  "that 
you  should  always  mention  that  presence  with  re- 
spect. In  my  opinion,  he  can  do  you  so  much 
harm." 

Uncle  Phil,  knowing  himself  to  be  in  a  delicate 
position,  consistently  sat  on  the  fence,  refusing  to 
express  an  opinion  concerning  the  merits  or  de- 
merits "ob  dis  rumpus  de  white  folkes  wus  kickin' 
up."  For  a  change  of  his  views,  or  rather  in  de- 
ciding them,  Virginia  was  responsible.  When  she 
"went  out"  he  promptly  seceded  with  his  State,  as 
"a  gempleman  oughter  do,"  and  boldly  proclaimed 
himself  to  be  a  Southern  man,  and  loyally  clung 
to  his  politics  without  wavering  through  many  dis- 
couragements, though  the  dark  days  of  corn-bread 
severely  tried  his  patriotism,  destined  to  finally  fall 
under  the  absence  of  coffee. 


UNOLE  PHIL.  ,201 

The  previous  life  of  Gerry  had  been  so  far  re- 
moved from  sectional  animosities  that  she  was  as 
one  bewildered.  The  whole  South  was  in  an  uproar, 
and  preparing. for  war  with  the  alacrity  that  clearly 
indicated  that  the  masses  had  no  conception  of 
what  war  really  was — privations — painful  march- 
ings— weary  watchings  and  bloody  battles.  But  as 
if  they  had  eaten  of  the  weed  of  madness  they 
rushed  on  without  pausing  a  moment  to  reflect  on 
the  awful  nature  of  the  storm  they  were  hurrying 
to  meet. 

Owing  to  the  active  part  taken  by  Hamilton 
Gerry  was  not  only  invited  but  also  expected  to 
join  the  Southern  ladies  in  their  soldiers'  aid  asso- 
ciations, and  social-political  reunions.  She  only 
shook  her  head,  saying :  "You  must  excuse  me,"  and 
looking  at  her  sable  clothing,  added :  "I  am  in  deep 
affliction,  but  I  will  help  to  nurse  your  wounded 
soldiers."  That  time  soon  came,  and  Her  promise 
amply  redeemed.  For  the  first  years  of  the  war  the 
Northern  newspapers  came  through  "the  lines" 
quite  regularly,  and  always  with  painful  tidings 
for  Gerry.  How  sad  it  was  for  her  to  read  of  the 
heroic  death  of  Charley  Wood  while  leading  a 
charge  against  "that  terrible  horse-shoe"  at  Ball's 
Bluff  after  the  fall  of  the  brilliant  gentleman  and 
soldier,  Colonel  E.  D.  Baker.  Quickly  fallowing 
fell  many  others  whom  she  had  known  and  called 
friends;  with  whom  she  had  often  danced  and 


202  UNCLE  PHIL. 

joined  in  many  merry-makings.  Indeed,  she  read 
no  list  of  the  Federals  killed  in  battle  without  see- 
ing names  around  which  clustered  many  pleasant 
recollections.  Poor  Major  Charres,  mortally  wound- 
ed at  Fredericksburg !  How  well  she  remembered 
a  time,  not  so  long  ago,  when  returning  from  a 
scouting  expedition  and  bear-hunt  combined  he  had 
brought  her  a  champagne  bottle  filled  with  an 
oleaginous  fluid  which  he  said  was  "genuine  bear's 
oil,  to  his  certain  knowledge,  for  he  had  shot  the 
grizzly  and  tried  down  some  of  the  fatty  substance 
himself  for  her  special  behoof — it  being  good  for 
the  hair." 

Nor  could  she  forget  his  extreme  mortification  at 
her  prompt  and  indignant  repudiation  of  the  idea 
of  subjecting  her  abundant  tresses  to  other  treat- 
ment than  the  septuary  washings  with  soap  and 
water  followed  by  rinsings  with  the  pure  element. 

"Your  hair  always  looks  so  glossy,"  he  said  in 
exculpation,  "and  I  am  sure  I  have  heard  that  ladies 
used  pomatum,  which  is  undoubtedly  oil  of  some 
sort." 

"Perhaps  they  do — some  of  them,"  she  answered, 
and  graciously  adding :  "I  will  keep  the  bottle  as  a 
relic.  I  have  carefully  put  away  a  large  and  mis- 
cellaneous assortment  of  valuables." 

And  now  dead  was  that  gay  young  fellow,  and 
his  pleasant  voice  would  never  be  heard  again. 

Also  there  was  Captain  Sulett,  shot  through  the 


UNCLE  PHIL.  203 

heart  at  Seven  Oaks ;  and  now  that  he  was  sancti- 
fied by  the  sad  mystery  of  death  it  seemed  some- 
thing akin  to  sacrilege  to  recall  the  uproarious 
laughs  at  his  expense  occasioned  by  the  admixture 
in  about  equal  proportions  of  indigenous  honesty 
and  ignorance  of  the  Spanish  language.  He  had  his 
quarters  in  the  cuartel,  which  occupied  a  town  site, 
in  the  rear  of  which  was  a  small  lot  where  the  army 
vehicles  were  stored.  This  lot  was  separated  from 
the  premises  of  a  muger  del  pais  by  a  substantial 
adobe  wall.  Over  this  wall  one  day  flew  one  of 
the  muger's  discontented  gallinas,  and  finding 
things  to  her  liking  she  scraped  together  a  few 
straws  and  making  herself  a  sort  of  nest  laid  into 
it  an  egg.  The  marketable  value  of  eggs  being  one 
dollar  and  a  half  per  dozen  rendered  eggnog  a  bev- 
erage not  enjoyed  every  day,  and,  as  a  rule,  officers 
like  eggnog;  therefore,  Captain  Sulett  not  only 
added  to  the  comfort  of  the  nest,  but  also  appealed 
to  the  hen's  appetite  by  scatteringlavish  handfuls  of 
government  corn  to  induce  her  to  return.  She  ac- 
cepted the  bribe,  and  a  series  of  diurnal  visits  and 
diurnal  eggs  ensued  until  the  delighted  officer  saw 
his  way  to  the  desired  beverage.  An  evening  was 
designated  and  his  intimates  invited  to  assist  at 
the  revel.  These  intimes  were  on  hand  punctual  to 
a  minute,  but  were  regaled  only  with  good  hot 
whisky  punch.  Of  course  they  should  have  drunk 
what  was  set  before  them  asking  no  questions,  but 


204  UNCLE  PHIL. 

they  clamorously  demanded  the  promised  eggnog, 
and  Captain  Sulett  was  forced  to  an  explanation. 
He  extenuated  nothing  concerning  the  possession 
of  a  round  dozen  eggs,  clearly  his  by  the  nine  points 
of  law — but  he  had  lost  them. 

"How  did  you  lose  them?"  was  categorically  de- 
manded. 

"Well,"  answered  the  centurian,  seeing  all  re- 
treat cut  off.  "I  hate  to  call  women  bad  names,  but 
that  infernal  Mexicaness  who  resides  over  the  other 
side  of  our  adobe  wall  made  me  a  visit  this  morning 
in  my  modest  bachelor  quarters.  I  was  surprised 
and  not  wrholly  pleased,  but  I  hope  to  always  have 
the  manners  of  a  gentleman,  so  I  hastily  removed 
my  coat  and  vest  from  one  of  the  chairs — my  boots 
and  some  other  things  were  on  the  other — and  po- 
litely suggested  that  she  be  seated.  I  sat  on  the 
side  of  the  bed  and  feeling  sure  that  she  must  ob- 
serve her  visit  to  be  ill-timed  I  was  prepared  for 
an  early  withdrawal.  But  she  was  not  diffident, 
and  voluble.  I  did  not  understand  her  language, 
yet  I  clearly  saw  that  she  was  making  some  demand 
which  must  be  satisfied — and  so — to  get  rid  of  her — 
I  delivered  up  the  oval  treasures.  But  if  this  was 
bad,  worse  was  to  follow,"  he  added  in  a  heated 
manner.  "She  departed  only  to  return  with  an  in- 
terpreter to  thank  me  for  the  gift  of  the  eggs  and 
to  request  the  loan  of  a  cart  for  a  day,  which  was 


UNCLE  PHIL.  205 

the  favor  she  had  coine  to  ask  of  el  senor  Capitan. 
Just  imagine  my  feelings!" 

In  their  moments  of  conviviality  gentlemen  are 
prone  to  an  excess  of  merriment  hardly  warranted 
by  delicacy  of  sentiment  or  expression,  and  Captain 
Sulett's  efforts  to  sustain  with  good  humor  the 
united  raillery  directed  against  him  did  him  infinite 
credit. 

"I  am  awe-struck  at  the  sublimity  of  the  idea," 
said  a  gaunt  veteran  with  a  huge  saber- wound  scar 
from  brow  to  chin — a  Mexican  souvenir — "that  we 
have  within  our  corps  a  comrade  whom  we  can  con- 
fidently propose  as  a  worthy  Sunday  school 
teacher." 

"He  is  capable  of  still  better  things,"  supple- 
mented a  manly  major.  "He  ought  to  contract  a 
matrimonial  alliance.  And  who  knows  but  that  he 
might  have  children  of  his  own,  and  the  world  glad- 
dened again  with  a  second  Washington." 

"Comrades  mine,"  said  a  young  officer,  not  a  year 
from  West  Point,  "we  are  the  victims,  disappointed 
of  our  dearest  expectations,  yet  let  us  congratulate 
ourselves  that  such  transcendental  integrity  has 
been  found  in  the  army.  He  should  be  put  into  a 
glass  case  and  ticketed." 

"Oh !  you  can  laugh  as  much  as  you  please,"  in- 
terposed Captain  Sulett,  "but  the  honor  of  the 
lady's  visit  was  unexpected — I  was  taken  by  sur- 


206  UNCLE  PHIL. 

prise — my  toilet  was  inchoate — and  I  did  not  know 
what  to  do." 

"Do?"  cried  the  young  officer  with  a  gay  laugh. 
"Why — why,  you  must  be  very  peculiarly  consti- 
tuted not  to  be  able  to  stand  such  a  siege  with 
equanimity  if  the  lady  could." 

"Just  listen  to  his  talk !"  said  the  gaunt  veteran. 
"It's  splendid  audacity  is  owing  to  his  salad  days. 
Darling,"  he  continued,  looking  at  the  young  offi- 
cer with  admiration  commingled  with  compassion, 
"unless  you  be  exempt  from  the  common  fortunes  of 
men  you  will  soon  learn  the  tremendous  advantages 
possessed  by  a  wroman.  If,  accidentally,  she  gets  in 
your  way  you  can't  knock  her  out  of  it,  and  even 
when  she  by  deliberate  intention  deploys  into  line 
and  offers  fight  in  open  field,  you  can  only  surren- 
der at,  or  rather  with,  discretion — or,  better  still, 
take  to  your  heels.  The  latter  alternative  has  al- 
ways been  my  practice,  and  I  am  a  bachelor  yet, 
thank  God!  But  I  have  tender  recollections,  as 
doubtless  you  all  have.  Therefore,  comrades,  let 
us  drink  in  silence  to  a  memory,  light  our  Habanos, 
and  depart  peacefully  on  our  several  ways.  Not 
omitting  to  thank  our  host  for  his  gracipus  enter- 
tainment, and  to  hope  for  him  better  luck  next 
time." 

Alas !  that  so  much  good  comradeship,  and  its  in- 
nocent mirth,  and  its  playful  badinage,  was  so  soon 
to  terminate  forever.  And,  alas !  that  what  is  called 


UNCLE  PHIL.  207 

life  with  all  its  glorious  possibilities,  and  its  bound- 
less aims  and  hopes  should  end  on  the  bloody  field 
of  battle,  and  these  revelers  with  white  rigid  faces 
upturned  to  the  pitying  stars  of  Heaven  go  forth 
to  investigate  the  Great  Perhaps. 

"Man  proposes  and  God  disposes."  We  cau 
scarce  make  a  step  in  our  appointed  walk  without 
seeing  some  corroboration  of  that  grand  truth. 
Look  back  and  recall  Geraldine  Southampton,  her 
careless  defiant  ways,  her  frank  off-hand  manner, 
her  transient  fits  of  haughtiness,  each  and  all  had 
a  several  attraction,  and  no  mere  statuesque  beauty 
was  ever  so  fair,  gay  and  winsome.  And  all  in  a 
moment,  as  it  were,  when  her  cup  of  happiness  was 
brimming,  bubbling  over,  the  beautiful  dream  came 
to  its  end;  and  her  life  was  emptied  of  its  full- 
ness at  its  fullest,  just  when  she  began  to  compre- 
hend the  magical  melody  that  was  heard  first  in 
the  Garden  of  Eden,  and  to  understand  how  rich 
and  rapturous  existence  might  be.  Suddenly,  with 
scarce  a  note  of  warning,  a  change  came,  the  roseate 
sky  turned  black  and  Gerry  found  herself  to  be  in 
the  grasp  of  some  cruel,  inexorable  evil  and  trans- 
ported to  the  City  of  Suffering  for  the  crucial  test. 

In  these  days  of  equalization  when  the  terrible 
vox  populi  roars  its  fiat  that  all  men  are  and  ought 
to  be  free  and  equal  it  is  hazardous  to  repeat  the 
aphorism — though  it  is  as  old  as  the  hills — that 
"blood  will  tell ;"  yet  when  brought  face  to  face  with 


208  UNCLE  PHIL. 

eminent  danger  or  certain  destruction  place  con- 
fidence in  it.  Agag,  King  of  the  Amelikites,  "went 
delicately"  to  the  horrible  doom  of  being  "hewed 
to  pieces  before  the  Lord."  and  the  pitiless  Saul 
who,  when  wounded  by  the  archers  and  the  battle 
going  sorely  against  him,  took  a  sword  and  fell  upon 
it  that  he  might  die  like  a  king.  And  the  "painted 
and  curled  darlings"  of  the  French  King's  house- 
hold, after  their  army  had  been  cut  to  pieces  and 
all  seemed  lost,  springing  from  their  silken  couches, 
fought  like  demons,  turning  disastrous  defeat  into 
glorious  victory. 

With  almost  feelings  of  relief,  as  if  despair  was 
making  for  itself  an  outlet,  Gerry  devoted  herself 
to  hospital  work.  The  harder  it  was  the  better  she 
liked  it.  She  never  held  back  from  aiding  to  dress 
bloody  wounds,  and  was  always  ready  to  bathe 
fevered,  soiled  and  unshorn  faces,  or  with  patient 
effort  endeavor  to  soothe  men  wild  with  pain.  But 
it  saddened  her  inexpressibly  to  watch  for  and  to 
await  the  end  when  the  soul  took  its  flight — some- 
times in  awful  agony — from  its  mutilated  tenement. 

Perhaps  in  that  day  of  reckoning  before  the  Great 
White  Throne,  and  all  the  nations  of  the  earth  shall 
be  assembled,  and  each  separate  individual  asked 
the  question  by  the  Supreme  Father,  "What  have 
you  done  to  inherit  eternal  life?"  the  best  answer, 
I  fancy,  will  be:  "I  had  pity  on  your  suffering  chil- 
dren." If  such  be  the  case,  Geraldine  Southampton 


UNCLE  PHIL.  209 

will  be  entitled  to  a  fair  rebate  for  all  of  her 
thoughtless  folly  before  the  evil  days  like  an  armed 
man  came  upon  her.  About  this  child  born  of  af- 
fluence there  was  an  attraction,  a  power  of  attach- 
ment, not  often  possessed  in  so  eminent  a  degree. 
Her  mere  presence  in  the  pain-stricken  wards  had 
its  charm.  At  her  coming  tired  eyes  would  bright- 
en, and  pain  would  lose  half  its  energy  to  torment. 

Even  her  constant  companion,  old  Uncle  Phil, 
was  not  unwelcome.  And  his  oft-repeated  recitals 
of  the  glories  "ob  de  Southamptons  when  dey  wus 
in  Wirginny,  an'  dar  wusent  much  ter  complain  ob 
when  dey  wus  in  Kaliforny,"  were  listened  to  with 
pleasure. 

One  day  passed  very  like  another  day;  and  the 
active  sympathy  going  hand  in  hand  with  Gerry's 
ministrations  fatigued  her  daily  to  almost  mental 
and  physical  exhaustion,  and  the  "mouthful  of  fresh 
air,"  when  her  day's  work  was  done  was  always 
looked  forward  to  as  the  restorative. 

Hospital  nurses  soon  learn  to  distinguish  the 
sounds  of  war,  whether  it  is  skirmishing  bridle  in 
hand  either  to  advance  or  retreat,  or  whether  it 
be  skillful  generals  charging  with  the  several  divi- 
sions of  their  troops  in  regular  succession.  If  the 
latter,  they  know  that  the  wounded  will  soon  be 
coming  in  greater  numbers  than  their  eager,  will- 
ing hands  can  care  for.  But  they  nerve  themselves 
for  their  best  efforts — and  oh !  the  torture  to  wit- 


210  UNCLE  PHIL. 

ness  those  cruel  wounds  made  in  human  flesh  by 
the  ruthless  canister.  The  cry  can  hardly  be  kept 
back,  "Oh  where  is  God?" 

Gerry  had  passed  such  a  day,  and,  wearied  almost 
to  the  extinction  of  life,  she  was  slowly  making  her 
final  round  to  wish  each  one  "good-night,"  She 
knew  how  much  this  was  to  these  suffering  men. 
A  low,  strangling  moan  caught  her  ear.  She  paused 
to  listen — she  had  heard  such  a  moan  before.  Some 
one  was  speaking,  the  words  were  labored  and  sol- 
emn. Solemn  because  spoken  in  the  near  proximity 
of  Death.  "I  am — dying — will — some — one — sing 
— a — hymn?"  Gerry  waited  a  moment,  to  see  if 
one  of  his  comrades  would  comply  with  this  last  re- 
quest. No  one  volunteered.  Again  came  the  trem- 
ulous words,  "Will  some — one — sing — a — hymn?" 
She  drew  a  deep  breath  to  collect  her  strength,  and 
quickly  passed  to  the  dying's  man  cot,  and  tenderly 
laying  her  hand  on  the  heaving  breast  she  began 
to  sing  that  noble  anthem  "Rock  of  Ages."  Clear 
as  the  notes  of  a  flute — like  the  triumphant  strains 
sung  in  Heaven — her  voice  in  all  its  passionate, 
glorious  fullness  rang  out  with  jubilant,  vibrating 
melody  that  thrilled  heart  and  brain.  As  the  last 
strain  ceased  a  slight  shudder  stirred  the  soldier's 
body — the  suffering  lips  wrreathed  into  a  smile — 
the  man  had  ceased  to  suffer. 

Reverently  she  laid  the  dead  hands  across  the 
still  heart.  Then  by  some  sudden,  some  holy  im- 


UNCLE  PHIL. 

pulse,  she  pressed  her  lips  on  the  brow  which  when 
last  kissed  by  a  woman  received  the  good-bye  kiss 
of  his  mother. 

And  as  Gerry  glided  her  way  out  of  the  rude  hos- 
pital she  almost  seemed  to  the  war-worn  inmates 
like  a  transient  visitor  lent  from  a  brighter  world. 
To  them  her  singing  was  such  as  had  never  before 
been  heard  by  mortal  ears.  Memories  and  hopes 
long  dead  lived  again,  and  once  again  surrounded 
them  in  bodily  presence.  Their  drooping  spirits 
were  comforted,  and  their  saddened  souls  lured  to  a 
higher  pitch  of  faith  in  God  than  they  could  ever 
have  unassisted  attained. 

Geraldine,  Colonel  Southampton's  daughter,  it  is 
well  for  you  to  have  lived  to  this  hour.  It  is  well 
to  have  suffered  all  your  heart's  anguish  for  this 
privilege,  even  for  a  moment  of  speaking  as  in  the 
similitude  of  a  messenger  direct  from  Heaven  to 
tell  that  when  earthly  consolations  fail  there  is  a 
sure  refuge  above,  and  that  the  Eternal  Father  will 
never  deny  His  children,  and  that  His  mercy  is 
without  limit,  and  that  the  thorny  road  is  often  the 
road  to  Heaven. 

Although  about  this  girl-woman,  as  the  world 
goes,  there  were  higher  sorts  of  loyalty  and  good 
faith  than  the  commoner  kind  of  mortals  can  dream 
of,  she  had  not  yet  taught  her  own  wounded  spirit 
to  forget  the  frightful  reefs  over  which  it  had  bat- 
tled, and  to  look  above  for  a  joy  which  no  uncer- 


212  UNCLE  PHIL. 

tainty  could  destroy,  and  no  falsehood  take  away. 

The  war  had  been  going  on  for  three  years,  and 
with  following  the  army  in  its  marchings  and  coun- 
ter-marchings, its  advances  and  retreats,  Gerry  felt 
to  be  an  old  soldier.  Though  she  loved  not  their 
cause,  she  loved  the  Southern  soldiers;  she  saw  so 
much  to  admire  in  their  noble  bearing,  their  patient 
fortitude  under  incredible  hardships. 

She  was  sitting  in  her  tent  one  day  laboring  as- 
siduously with  her  unskillful  fingers  to  manufac- 
ture a  shirt  out  of  her  flannel  dressing-gown,  for 
a  soldier  whose  hollow  cough  had  attracted  her  no- 
tice. Now  that  woolen  garments  were  phantoms  of 
the  past,  or  only  pleasing  memories,  the  utility  of 
such  a  gift  may  well  be  imagined.  Uncle  Phil 
rushed  *in  wild  with  excitement,  too  much  so  to 
observe  the  strict  decorum  of  speech  which,  for 
those  with  the  army  in  any  capacity,  is  highly  to 
be  commended. 

"  'Pore  Gawd !  Miss  Gerry,  honey,  we  is  whoopped. 
We  jes  as  well  gin  in  at  onct.  Provi-dence  ain't 
neber  gwien  ter  prosper  no  sich  goin's  on.  I  jes 
hearn  tell,  fer  er  fae',  dat  Gineral  Bragg  has  jes 
gone  an'  had  one  ob  dem  solger-mans  ob  ourn — an' 
de  good  Lordy  in  Heaben  knows  dat  we  ain't  got 
none  too  many  ob  dem — shot — dead!  jes  fer  liftin' 
er  chicken."  He  took  out  his  old  pocket-handker- 
chief to  wipe  away  his  tears,  and  he  whimpered. 
"An'  it  ain't  been  so  long  ergo  dat  I  hearn  Gineral 


UNCLE  PHIL.  213 

Bragg  myself  talkin'  scandlous  ter  a  white  man,  jes 
kase  his  pockets  wus  bulgin'  out  wid  taters  er  ap- 
ples— I  'spose,  he  'lowed  dat  it  neber  would  be  dis- 
kivered.  I  felt  so  sorry  fer  dat  white  man  dat  I 
would  er  said  somethin'  ter  de  gineral — but  I 
thought  mebby  I  had  better  not.  In  korse  I  ain't 
blamin'  y'u  fer  none  ob  it,  honey — I  am  jes  noratin' 
de  truths;  but  I  jes  do  wush  from  de  bottom  ob 
my  heart  dat  I  had  neber  j'ined  dis  army,  an'  ef  I 
know  anything  ertall  'bout  my  own  feelin's,  I  don't 
want  anything  mo'  ter  do  wid  it.  I  don't  know  when 
I  eber  las'  did  hab  anything  fltten  ter  eat.  Korn- 
braid  fa'rly  scratches  my  troat — an'  no  coffee, 
neber !  an'  I  neber  wus  no  hand  ter  eat  milk.  An' 
me,  borned  in  Wirginny,  wearin'  de  korses  kine  ob 
cotton  close — 'lowell,'  dey  call  it.  An'  fer  shoes! 
my  Lord,  look  at  dat,"  he  said  in  tones  of  deep  dis- 
gust, putting  out  a  foot  with  a  very  ill-made  shoe 
upon  it.  His  statements  were  not  eloquent,  but 
they  were  without  ambiguity. 

"I  wouldn't  worry  if  I  were  you,  Uncle  Phil,"  said 
Gerry  soothingly.  "I  hear  we  are  going  to  start 
for  Mississippi  soon;  perhaps  it  won't  be  so 
hard  there.  Don't  you  want  to  see  the  magnolias?" 

"I  don't  know  as  I  dooz,"  replied  Uncle  Phil,  not 
encouraged,  "I  don't  'zactly  hanker  arter  wanderin' 
permiscus  round  dis  kentry — I've  seed  ernough  ob 
it.  I  had  er  heap  ruther  see  er  sizeable  plate  piled 
up  wid  good  hot  sody  biskits,  an'  er  dish  ob  bilin' 


214  UNCLE  PHIL. 

hot  coffee — but  'tain't  likely  dat  I  will  eber  be 
spared  ter  see  ary  one  ergin." 

Sure  enough  they  soon  did  start  for  the  great 
river,  but  the  roads  were  wretched  beyond  descrip- 
tion, and  the  teams,  worn  nearly  to  exhaustion, 
making  the  distance  traveled  seem  very  great. 

"Look  there,  Uncle  Phil!"  cried  Gerry,  strenu- 
ously exerting  herself,  at  the  first  view  of  the  noble 
river,  to  speak  with  enthusiasm.  "There  is  plenty 
of  water." 

"Fraish  water,"  sniffed  Uncle  Phil  contemptu- 
ously. But  big  waters  did  have  an  attraction  for 
him,  and  he  soon  wandered  to  the  leveed  shore, 
which  he  examined  curiously,  muttering,  "What's 
dis  fer?"  Then  he  sighted  Louisiana  on  the  oppo- 
site bank,  with  no  pleasure,  and  he  expressed  him- 
self disconsolately,  "Mo'  Ian'  yit." 

They  found  the  pleasant  village  of  Port  Gibson 
a  peaceful  resting  place.  A  large  number  of  Con- 
federate troops  were  in  encampment  near  there  and 
the  one  long  street  of  the  village  was  constantly  en- 
livened by  the  passing  and  repassing  of  gray-clad 
soldiers. 

Citizen-soldiers  carry  with  them  to  the  camp 
their  home  ideas  and  between  battles  they  consist- 
ently put  war's  alarms  out  of  sight  and  enjoy  with 
infinite  zest  every  social  pleasure  within  their 
reach.  And  these  fighters,  the  best  the  world  ever 
saw,  plunged  at  once  into  a  round  of  gayeties,  prom- 


UNCLE  PHIL.  215 

enades,  rides,  drives,  parties,  tableaux,  and  even 
musicales.  Nor  was  this  all ;  many  a  young  fellow 
thought  it  no  dishonor  to  lay  down  his  arms  at  some 
fair  maiden's  feet.  And  he  who  wooes  carrying  his 
life  in  his  hand,  as  it  were,  has  a  tremendous  ad- 
vantage. There  is  no  time  for  coyness — no  time 
for  the  usual  follies  when  a  lover  is  made  to  fetch 
and  carry  like  the  best  of  retrievers.  Ah !  no,  the 
uncertainty  is  too  great  that  the  promised  hand 
will  never  be  claimed.  And  the  time  too  imminent 
when  the  love-light  now  in  the  young  hero's  eyes 
will  be  changed  to  the  deadly  hate  engendered  in 
battle,  and  perhaps  the  last  beat  of  his  heart  will  be 
throbbing  with  fierce  rage  for  his  foeman,  and  not 
with  love  for  the  young  heart  that  will  ache  none 
the  less  because  it  can  tell  its  sorrows  only  to 
Heaven. 


216  UNCLE  PHIL. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE   BISHOP   OF   MOBILE. 

"When  other  helpers  fail,  and  other  comforts  flee, 
Help  of  the  helpless,  oh,  abide  with  me." 

"Miss  Gerry,  chile,  dey  do  tell  me,  fer  er  fac',  dat 
dose  Roman  Katholic  folkses  livin'  down  roun'  here 
hab  done  gone  an' built  'em  er  cherch,an'  dar's  whar 
I'm  gwien  ter  dis  blessed  Sunday — ter  sorter  'mem- 
ber me  ob  Kaliforny.  Y'u  knows  y'use'f,  Miss  Gerry, 
honey,  dat  we  went  ter  dat  cherch  mor'n  ha'f  de 
time.  We  neber  had  no  'Piscopalian  cherch  ter  go 
ter  straight  on  reg'lar.  Dat  cherch  wus  Marse  Rob- 
ert's cherch,  an',  in  kose  ourn.  But  I  ain't  bin  ter 
no  Roman  Katholic  cherch  sense  we  done  lef  Kali- 
forny, an'  dar's  whar  I  am  gwien  ter  dis  blessed 
day,  ef  de  Lord  spar's  me." 

Gerry  put  on  her  hat.  She,  too,  would  go,  though 
she  almost  felt  herself  to  be  forgotten  of  God.  But 
the  familiar  ceremonials  would  at  least  be  a  re- 
minder of  the  old  happy  days  which  now  seemed  so 
long  ago. 

The  prosperous  happy  go  to  church  to  return 
thanks  for  benefits  received — to  acknowledge  favors 
bestowed,  and  to  entreat  for  their  continuance.  And 
to  bless  God  that  they  are  not  as  others.  Not  so  go 


UNCLE  PHIL.  217 

the  ailing  of  mind  or  body.  To  these  the  temple  of 
God  is  a  temple  of  refuge.  He  is  no  respecter  of 
persons,  and  here  is  the  only  place  under  Heaven 
where  all  are  equal,  and  must  stand  or  fall  as  they 
have  wrought.  The  rich  are  stripped  of  their  goods 
— the  learned  of  their  sophistries — the  powerful 
separated  from  their  high  places;  and  the  soul 
naked  as  it  came  into  the  world  exposed  to  the 
piercing  eye  of  Omnipotence,  and  if  disfigured  by 
sin  here  is  the  equal  remedy  in  the  water  that  issued 
from  the  sacred  side.  And  many  a  weary,  stricken 
spirit  driven  here  in  anguish  to  grovel  for  mercy, 
has  been  strengthened  and  comforted  by  the  soft 
melody  whispered  from  divine  lips :  "Go  in  peace." 

Gerry  found  little  to  remind  her  in  that  spick  and 
span  new  wooden  edifice  of  the  large  ancient  adobe 
iglesia  she  remembered  so  well.  Conspicuously  ab- 
sent were  the  two  huge  allegorical  paintings,  one 
on  each  side  of  the  front  entrance.  The  painting 
on  the  right  hand  was  intended  to  represent  the  im- 
mortal abode  of  the  blessed  with  its  glorified  inhabi- 
tants, presumably  wandering  to  and  fro,  carrying 
harps,  their  countenances  indicative  of  celestial 
bliss.  Also  there  were  a  great  number  of  corpulent 
small  angels  swimming  around  in  midair. 

The  converse  represented  on  the  left  hand  was  a 
picture  of  the  lost  souls  condemned  to  expiate 
their  misdeeds  in  the  endless  torments  of  the  lake 
that  burns  with  fire  and  brimstone,  into  which  they 


218  UNCLE  PHIL. 

had  been  precipitated  without  hope  of  escape,  for, 
standing  on  the  shores,  in  sufficient  numbers,  were 
devils  armed  with  pitchforks  to  forbid  a  landing. 

And  no  less  in  sharp  contrast  was  the  choir  com- 
posed of  a  few  well-trained  voices  and  a  melodeon 
to  the  harps  and  guitars  and  the  sweet  but  untu- 
tored singing  of  the  Indians. 

And  of  a  type  diametrically  opposed  to  Padre 
Kamiras,  who,  in  bodily  presence  was  a  stalwart 
warrior  of  the  Church  Militant,  was  the  Bishop  of 
Mobile,  who  was  here  to-day  to  consecrate  the  new- 
built  church.  His  spare  form  was  thin  to  emacia- 
tion, and  his  complexion  was  of  that  peculiarly  pure 
tint  acquired  only  by  a  long  course  of  rigidly  ab- 
stemious living;  and  from  his  clear,  brilliant  eyes 
the  lurid  light  of  human  passions  seemed  to  be  for- 
ever banished.  All  this  was  rather  felt  than  per- 
ceived by  the  eye  of  Gerry,  whose  mind  was  so  much 
occupied  with  painful  emotions  that  she  scarce 
heard  the  familiar  Latin  offertory  until  in  elevated 
tones  Father  O'Bannon  uttered  the  solemn  Church 
warning :  Sursum  corda.  At  the  response,  Haber- 
nus  ad  Dominuin,  she  visibly  shuddered.  A  per- 
tinacious inward  voice  was  saying,  "Ah !  how  can 
I  ever  lift  up  my  heart  to  God,  filled  as  it  with  an 
ungoverned  human  love,  and  must  it  forever  stand 
between  me  and  all  hopes  of  earth,  shutting  out 
even  hopes  of  Heaven?"  A  sadness  almost  to  death 
came  over  her — a  general  sense  of  misery,  pain  and 


UNCLE  PHIL.  219 

terror.  Alas !  who  is  strong  enough  to  wrestle  for 
weary  months  with  heart-breaking  despair  without 
coming  dangerously  near  the  border-land  of  insan- 
ity? And  human  beings  never  struggle  so  hard  as 
when  they  struggle  alone,  without  witness,  coun- 
selor, or  comfort,  unencouraged,  unadvised,  and  un- 
pitied.  Then  comes  that  wild  cry  for  help — help ! 
no  matter  how,  but  help ! 

In  the  olden  times  Jehovah's  voice  was  heard  out 
of  flaming  fire  in  the  midst  of  thunder  and  light- 
ning, and  delivering  the  inflexible  mandate,  "If  ye 
sin  ye  die."  But  religion  achieved  a  grand  tri- 
umph in  the  coming  of  our  Savior,  who  walked 
among  men,  and  was  touched  by  their  infirmities, 
and  when  bleeding  on  the  cross  opened  his  arms  for 
all  the  afflicted  of  earth.  This  was  the  theme  of  the 
Bishop's  sermon,  and  his  gentle  tones  fell  upon 
Gerry's  ear  soothingly.  Involuntarily  she  raised 
her  eyes,  and  the  thought  passing  through  her  mind 
that  he  looked  to  be  good  and  true  she  was  con- 
scious of  a  great  desire  to  speak  with  him.  Not, 
she  felt,  that  he  could  say,  or  that  any  one  could  say 
aught  to  quiet  the  tumult  always  raging  in  her 
heart,  yet  it  would  be  of  some  comfort  to  hear  him 
speaking  to  her  in  his  kindly  tones. 

So  strong  was  this  desire  that  when  the  Bishop 
was  leaving  the  church  he  was  stopped  by  Gerry 
with  the  request : 

"Could  you  give  me  a  few  minutes,  father?    I 


220  UNCLE  PHIL. 

am  not  a  Catholic — but  I  ain  in  trouble — and  I 
think  that  I  would  like  to  speak  to  you." 

With  grave  kindness  he  led  the  way  to  the  vestry- 
room,  and  placing  a  chair  for  her,  took  one  him- 
self and  said : 

"Now,,  my  child,  tell  me  all  you  wish.  Are  you 
not  Mrs.  Hamilton?  I  have  heard  much  of  your 
charities  in  the  hospitals — you  are  much  to  be 
praised." 

"I  am  to  be  praised  for  nothing !"  she  burst  out 
impetuously.  "But  I  am  no  hypocrite,  and  I  say  to 
you  that  my  temperament  revolts  against  the  sight 
of  suffering  in  any  form,  and  I  am  driven  to  my 
work  in  the  hospitals  by  my  own  restless  misery." 
The  eyes  she  turned  toward  him  were  almost  fierce 
as  she  continued :  "You  see  before  you  one  in  the 
toils!  One  doomed  by  the  wrath  of  Heaven!  It 
was  not  even  given  to  me  to  die  free — I  was  driven 
into  an  ignominious  bondage!"  She  drew  a  long 
sobbing  breath ;  then  came  a  violent  reaction ;  and 
how  bitterly  she  regretted  her  display  of  weakness. 
Remember  she  was  the  descendant  of  a  long  line  of 
sword-wearing  ancestors,  who,  winning  or  losing, 
could  always  smile  pleasantly ;  and  who  woufd  have 
expired  under  the  knife  without  a  groan.  And  she, 
in  an  unguarded  moment,  had  yielded  to  an  unre- 
pressed  longing  for  sympathy.  No  words  can  de- 
scribe the  intensity  of  remorse  and  self-debasement 
which  swept  over  her  with  the  feeling  that  she  had 


UNCLE  PHIL.  221 

forgotten  the  traditions  of  her  father's  house — for- 
gotten that  she  was  her  father's  daughter,  and 
"whined  like  a  sick  cat." 

The  Bishop's  looks  were  of  wondrous  pity.  He 
had  witnessed  so  much  of  human  sorrow  in  all  its 
forms,  and  so  much  of  human  pride  in  all  its  exhi- 
bitions, and  it  was  easy  for  him  to  see  that  she  was 
bearing  the  burden  of  a  sin  not  her  own ;  and  that 
all  the  elements  of  prejudice,  pride,  and  inexperi- 
ence were  massed  in  force  barring  her  way  to  a 
lighter  path.  He  sighed,  thinking  of  the  pity  of  it 
that  her  youth  should  be  so  overshadowed.  There 
were  all  the  materials  for  the  making  of  a  perfect 
woman  if  her  heart  and  brain  could  be  brought  into 
harmonious  action,  and  his  voice  was  very  tender 
as  he  said: 

"Will  you  not  tell  me  the  nature  of  your  trouble?" 

The  face  she  raised  to  his  was  deeply  flushed,  and 
wearing  the  impress  of  a  proud  humility,  as  she 
answered : 

"I  must  beg  your  pardon  for  this  intrusion.  But 
you  appeared  to  me  to  be  so  wise  and  good — that  I 
was  tempted,  beyond  my  power  of  resistance — to 
seek  from  you  a  word  of  good  cheer.  And  I  feel 
sure  that  you  will  accept  my  present  humiliation  as 
my  best  apology.  I  now  see  what  I  should  have  seen 
earlier,  that  what  is  laid  on  me  to  bear  I  must  bear. 
I  have  only  done  what  seemed  to  me  to  be  the  bitter, 
hard  right,  and  I  shall  continue  to  do  so — in  my 


222  UNCLE  PHIL. 

own  way — moral  responsibilities  cannot  be  shifted. 
But  I  suffer !  I  suffer !  Can  you  doubt  it?"  There 
was  a  fearless  look  in  her  eyes  though  her  face  had 
grown  white  with  pain.  "I  will  now  go." 

"You  must  pardon  me,"  said  the  Bishop,  "if  I 
refuse  to  let  you  go.  And  if  for  your  own  sake  I  beg 
your  confidence.  I  am  an  old  man  with  much  ex- 
perience, and  if  I  do  not  see  a  way — a  lighter  way 
— a  way  easier  for  you  to  tread,  I  can  at  least  pray 
to  God  for  you.  Confide  in  me,  dear  child."  There 
was  so  much  persuasion  in  his  tones  that  Gerry 
was  induced  almost  against  volition  to  relate  her 
miserable  story. 

The  Bishop  listened  attentively,  and  at  its  con- 
clusion said : 

"In  one  way,  my  child,  you  have  acted  nobly — 
the  most  exalted  of  human  motives  is  self-sacrifice; 
but  indeed  you  were  mistaken.  By  what  right  did 
you  consent  to  that  marriage  ceremony  with  him 
who  now  passes  for  your  husband,  feeling  yourself 
bound  by  every  tie  of  honor  and  affection  to  the 
absent  Smith?" 

"I  was  also  bound,"  she  answered  quickly,  "by  the 
promise  given  to  my  dead  father  to  care  for  his  poor 
invalid  wife  in  preference  to  myself,  and  a  prom- 
ise made  to  the  dead  cannot  be  canceled.  And  I  did 
no  wrong  to  the  man  Hamilton — I  told  him  the 
truth!  The  wrong  was  all  to  me!  He  and  she 
would  have  it  so." 


UNCLE  PHIL.  223 

"Still,"  urged  the  Bishop,  "as  the  past  cannot  be 
undone  for  your  own  comfort,  not  to  say  happiness, 
would  it  not  be  better  to  live  on  terms  of  amity,  at 
least,  with  Colonel  Hamilton?  I  hear  he  is  a  brave, 
efficient  officer." 

"No !  a  thousand  times  no !"  burst  out  Gerry.  "If 
I  am  good  for  nothing  else  I  am  good  to  tell  the 
truth  and  I  have  promised  him  my  undying  enmity. 
For  his  own  ends  he  has  spoiled  my  life,  and  he 
must  drink  as  he  has  brewed !  Nature  has  certain 
immutable  laws,  some  chemicals  will  not  unite  with 
other  chemicals — it  would  be  as  easy  to  unite  fire 
and  water.  And  you  cannot  know — ypu  are  too 
high  above  such  a  weakness!  how  my  ill-governed 
heart  each  day  weeps  tears  of  blood  over  the  ashes 
of  my  lost  love.  And  if  I  ever  pray  it  is  for  deliver- 
ance from  my  cruel  bondage.  Oh !  before  my  trou- 
bles came  it  was  such  a  free,  glorious  life — I  was 
then  so  happy."  She  paused,  breathing  like  one  in 
extremity,  gasping  for  breath.  "And  must  I  tell 
you  that  if  this  dominating  love  could  be  removed 
from  my  heart  by  some  triumph  of  surgical  skill  I 
would  not  wish  it?  And  how  indescribably  hard  it 
is  to  bear  my  appalling  sensations  of  absolute  lone- 
liness, sometimes  terror,  as  if  everything  had  gone 
away  from  me,  and  that  I  was  left  powerless  to 
contend  against  an  inexorable,  malign  influence." 

The  aged  Bishop  sighed  again;  he  was  touched 
by  her  passionate  sorrow  though  all  mundane 


224:  UNCLE  PHIL. 

things  seemed  to  him  trivial,  but  he  was  aware  that 
she  could  not  see  things  as  he  saw  them.  And  who 
does  not  know  that  the  cruel  paths  of  earthly  love 
may  lead  the  feet  that  treads  them  to  the  ivory  gates 
of  Heaven,  and  that  nothing  can  happen  not  per- 
mitted by  God?  Still  her  grief  troubled  him. 

"Reflect,  dear  child,"  he  persisted  gently,  "that  in 
the  natural  order  of  events  the  direst  misery  of  this 
life  is  only  transitory,  and  the  sanctified  end  must 
be  wrought  by  sanctified  means.  And  is  there  no 
happiness  for  you  in  the  thought  that  you  were  im- 
peratively called  by  our  Heavenly  Father  to  be  one 
of  his  ministering  angels?  And  you  may  be  very 
sure  that  when  that  Great  Day  shall  come  when  we 
must  all  plead  for  mercy  it  is  not  then  that  a  life 
of  pure  happiness,  were  pure  happiness  an  earthly 
possibility,  would  count  for  much.  Would  it  not 
count  infinitely  more  to  be  able  to  say,  I  have  been 
faithful  to  the  work  put  to  my  hands? 

"Suffering,  dear  child,  is  coeval  with  Adam.  And 
though  we  cannot  fathom  why,  yet  it  must  be  sub- 
serving of  useful  and  intelligent  ends.  And,  after 
all,  when  we  have  climbed  the  Mountain  of  Expi- 
ation what  does  it  matter  how  often  our  foreheads 
have  been  touched  by  the  scourge  of  the  Purifying 
Angel,  and  often  in  mercy.  Therefore,  my  dear 
child,  I  earnestly  counsel  you  to  be  patient.  And  I 
implore  you  do  not  try  to  bear  your  troubles  alone 
— a  task  too  hard  for  any  one ;  but  come  to  the  foot 


UNCLE  PHIL.  225 

of  the  cross,  there  you  will  be  sustained  and  com- 
forted— I  know  not  how,  or  in  what  way,  but  by  the 
authority  of  the  Sacred  Word  I  can  promise  you 
effectual  help." 

The  Bishop  had  raised  his  head — his  face  glowed, 
and  the  pure  light  gleaming  in  his  eyes  seemed  scin- 
tillations from  the  pure  world  he  was  now  so  near. 

Gerry  was  deeply  moved,  and  her  answer  touch- 
ing in  its  humility. 

"I  thank  you,  father,  for  your  kindness,  and  if  I 
could  I  would  profit  by  your  admonitions,  but  my 
nature  is  so  faulty  that  I  cannot  recognize  God's 
hand  in  man's  cruelty.  And  if  there  is  no  future 
beyond  the  stars  for  passionate  earthly  love,  then 
indeed,  it  were  better  that  some  of  us  had  never 
been  born." 


226  UNCLE  PHIL. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE    OLD    LOVER    EN    SCENE. 

i 

"There  be  good  fellows  in  the  world, 

An'  a  man  could  light  on  them." 

Almost  without  warning  pealed  the  alarm  for  the 
renewal  of  hostilities — the  Federal  gunboats  had 
passed  the  batteries  at  Vicksburg,  heretofore  styled 
the  Gibraltar  of  the  West.  There  were  no  more 
outings  now,  every  man  must  be  at  his  post. 

The  Federal  fleet  opened  its  fire  upon  the  works 
of  Grand  Gulf,  Colonel  Wade  replying  with  his 
mortars  until  killed  at  his  guns.  This  popular  offi- 
cer was  brought  to  the  Port  Gibson  cemetery  for 
interment.  It  was  a  sad  sight  to  see  following  the 
hearse  the  led  horse  with  the  empty  saddle  and  the 
boots  the  dead  officer  would  need  nevermore. 

On  the  next  day  began  the  land  fighting  for  the 
possession  of  Vicksburg  ( "We  have  come  to  knock 
at  the  back  door,"  facetiously  remarked  Colonel 
Johnston,  of  Major-General  Grant's  staff) ;  and  all 
that  long  May  day  was  passed  by  Gerry  in  the  hos- 
pital where  the  wounded  men  were  brought  from 
the  field  of  battle,  wounded  in  every  imaginable 
fashion,  from  the  little  round  hole — not  so  bad  to 
look  at — which  soldiers  know  so  well.  No  surgeon's 


UNCLE  PHIL. 

sentence  is  needed  to  tell  them  that  the  man  will 
never  march  again  in  this  world.  And  how  sicken- 
ing are  those  ugly  hurts,  rent  and  jagged  by  the 
canister. 

About  sundown  an  ambulance  was  sent  by  Ham- 
ilton for  Gerry's  removal.  At  the  suspension  bridge 
spanning  the  Bayou  Pierre  her  progress  was  almost 
barred  by  the  crowd  of  non-combatants  hurrying 
across,  volubly  announcing  their  patriotism  and 
their  intention  to  stay  in  the  Confederacy  so  long 
as  there  was  an  inch  of  it  left. 

The  officer,  whose  duty  it  was  to  burn  the  bridge 
to  retard  the  enemy,  was  loudly  berating  them,  ac- 
cusing the  men  of  cowardice  for  not  being  in  arms. 
"And  so  long  as  you  don't  fight,"  he  cried  hotly,  "it 
makes  no  difference  where  you  are,  whether  in  the 
Confederacy  or  in  hell!"  Seeing  Gerry,  whom  he 
knew  by  sight,  his  angry  manner  changed  to  polite 
consideration.  "Here,  madam,  this  way,  pass 
right  over."  Then  he  ordered  a  squ^d  of  soldiers  he 
had  with  him  to  form  into  line  and  "Keep  these  peo- 
ple back  with  your  bayonets."  A  barrel  of  turpen- 
tine had  been  placed  on  the  bridge  and,  dipping 
into  it  with  a  pitcher,  the  woodwork  was  soon 
drenched  with  the  inflammable  fluid,  and  Gerry  was 
scarcely  over  when  a  match  was  applied  and  a 
bright  light  briefly  illuminated  the  gathering  twi- 
light. 

Qn  the  third  day  afterward,  Gerry  in  her  some- 


228  UNCLE  PHIL. 

what  roundabout  journey  came  across  the  Sixth 
Kegiment  of  Missouri  Infantry  when  they  were  tak- 
ing their  ten  minutes'  halt.  This  regiment  had 
been  taken  out  of  the  trenches  at  Grand  Gulf,  and 
double-quicked  eight  miles  and  precipitated  into 
the  battle  before  Port  Gibson,  and  were  now  the 
rear-guard  of  the  Confederate  army  in  full  retreat. 
With  little  rest  and  little  food  this  fatiguing  duty 
taxed  to  the  utmost  their  courage  and  physical  en- 
durance. At  the  welcome  halt  of  ten  minutes  every 
two  hours  down  they  would  drop,  right  where  they 
stood,  not  to  lose  an  instant  of  the  much  needed 
rest.  A  mounted  courier  had  just  come  up  and  was 
reading  aloud  an  army  despatch  which  claimed  a 
brilliant  victory  for  the  Southern  forces  in  Virginia. 
The  reading  was  listened  to  in  silence — these  old 
soldiers  had  grown  distrustful  of  the  brilliant  vic- 
tories claimed  at  opportune  times — until  the  men- 
tion was  made  that  Stonewall  Jackson  had  lost  an 
arm.  "I  wish  to  Heaven,"  said  one  of  the  weary 
soldiers,  slowly  raising  his  head,  "that  they  would 
send  that  arm  here  to  take  command  of  us."  It  sel- 
dom falls  to  the  lot  of  an  officer  to  be  as  universally 
disbelieved  in  as  was  Pemberton.  In  the  awful 
siege  of  Vicksburg,  so  soon  to  follow,  this  gallant 
regiment  lost  its  gallant  Colonel,  Eugene  Erwin, 
and  so  many  of  its  members  that  its  organization 
was  lost  and  never  restored. 

Owing  to  the  great  number  of  crossroads  Gerry 


UNCLE  PHIL.  229 

frequently  found  herself  entangled  with  portions  of 
the  retreating  army.  Her  ambulance  had  been 
given  to  the  use  of  the  disabled  soldiers  and  nothing 
better  could  be  found  for  her  to  ride  than  an  anti- 
quated mustang  pony,  and  Uncle  Phil  grumbled 
audibly  at  the  discomfort  and  disgrace  of  being 
mounted  on  a  mule.  "Not  fitten  for  no  gempleman's 
sarvant  to  ride."  This  was  true — but  the  poor  mule 
also  had  its  side  of  the  question;  its  numerous 
years,  conjoined  with  an  intimate  acquaintance 
with  the  seamy  side  of  life,  would  seem  to  render  its 
own  hardship — which  it  bore  so  patiently — greater 
than  the  hardship  imposed  on  Uncle  Phil. 

These  chance  meetings  were  not  unpleasant  to 
Gerry.  She  always  had  a  friendly  word  to  give  in 
lack  of  more  substantial  benefits,  and  for  the  sol- 
diers was  reserved  that  charming  smile  which  so 
seldom  relieved  her  features  from  their  habitual 
gloom. 

One  day  it  was  a  cavalry  regiment  she  got  in  the 
thick  of,  and  she  listened  with  sympathetic  inter- 
est to  the  statements  of  their  affairs.  "Here  we  are, 
and  have  been  in  the  saddle  for  twenty-four  hours, 
and  it  is  hard  to  say  which  are  the  worse  off,  we  or 
our  horses.  What  sort  of  a  fight  could  we  make 
now,  empty  as  gourds?  I  don't  believe  I  have 
strength  enough  left  to  pull  my  saber  out  of  the 
scabbard."  But  he  had,  for  at  that  moment,  as  if 


230  UNCLE  PHIL. 

by  magic,  the  surrounding  country  became  blue, 
and  swords  began  their  furious  work. 

Taken  by  surprise,  Gerry  was  bewildered,  but  in- 
stinctively she  drew  rein,  and  sat  still.  In  a  mo- 
ment a  voice  she  would  recognize  anywhere,  and 
the  voice  she  had  not  heard  for  so  long,  rang  out  in 
clear  imperious  tones,  "Company  F,  form  round  the 
lady  and  her  attendant." 

Safe  within  this  living  rampart  Gerry  was  con- 
fined until  the  skirmish  was  over.  Its  duration 
was  short,  the  hilly  surface  of  the  grounds  and  the 
thick  brushwood  favored  the  escape  of  the  tired 
men  on  the  tired  horses.  Then  again  Gerry  heard 
that  voice,  which  always  had  the  power  to  stir  her 
being  to  its  deepest  depths,  giving  the  order,  "Com- 
pany F  will  file  off  quietly  two  abreast  and  rejoin 
its  regiment." 

Only  a  few  moments  were  consumed  in  the  ex- 
ecution of  this  order;  then  Gerry  knew  that  Paul 
Smith  stood  beside  her;  one  glance  revealing  how 
set  and  stern  his  features  were — her  heart  grew  cold 
and  she  dropped  from  the  saddle  as  one  dead. 
Smith  caught  her  in  his  arms,  his  features  quivering 
strangely,  and  like  a  miser  who  had  recovered  long- 
lost  gold  he  pressed  her  to  his  heart,  murmuring 
passionate  words  of  endearment — hungrily  he  gazed 
on  the  sweet  pale  lips  he  might  not  kiss,  it  would 
bring  her  dishonor,  she  was  another  man's  wife. 

The  faint  was  a  long  one,  yet  how  brief  to  him 


UNCLE  PHIL.  231 

seemed  the  moments  he  was  thus  privileged  to  hold 
her.  Her  consciousness  returned,  yet  for  an  in- 
stant she  lay  quite  still  in  his  arms,  her  eyes  closed. 
"Oh,  let  me  die  now,"  she  prayed  silently — a  tear 
escaped  from  the  closed  eyelids  and  trickled  down 
her  cheek. 

"This  is  more  than  mortal  man  can  endure,"  said 
Smith,  laying  her  down  quickly  on  the  soft  grass. 
This  action  brought  a  faint  glow  to  her  cheeks.  "He 
despises  me,"  she  thought,  her  wounded  womanhood 
receiving  a  sharp  blow.  She  attempted  to  rise  but 
the  effort  was  ineffectual. 

"Kemain  quiet ;  you  will  be  stronger  presently," 
said  Smith,  but  he  did  not  offer  her  any  assistance. 

For  shame's  sake  Gerry  repressed  her  tears,  and 
by  a  strong  effort  she  sat  up  and  declared  herself 
recovered. 

Where  was  Uncle  Phil  all  this  time?  Screaming 
with  terror  when  he  saw  Gerry  faint  he  had  scram- 
bled down  from  his  mule  with  such  haste  as  he 
could  make,  being  impeded  by  rheumatic  difficul- 
ties, but  witnessing  the  part  taken  by  Smith,  deli- 
cacy of  feeling  kept  him  slightly  in  the  background 
an  anxious  looker-on ;  but  he  could  now  restrain  him- 
self  no  longer,  and  making  a  rush  fell  on  his  knees  at 
Gerry's  feet,  grasping  her  dress  and  sobbing  like  a 
child,  exclaiming  in  broken  tones : 

"Blessed  be  de  good  Marster  in  Heabin,  my  po', 
precious,  sweet  babby,  dat  y'u  is  alive! — an'  iteer 


232  UNCLE  PHIL. 

mussy  dat  any  body  iser  live  wid  all  dem  weepins 
cuttin'  an'  slashin'  all  er-roun'  eber'  whar." 

Smith's  friendly  glance  rested  on  the  old  man 
while  shaking  hands  with  him.  "Step  aside,  please, 
Uncle  Phil,  I  wish  to  say  a  few  words  to  your  young 
lady.  She  is  quite  herself  now." 

Obediently  Uncle  Phil  withdrew  and  getting  out 
of  sight  behind  a  tree,  concluded  to  improve  the 
time  by  devoting  it  to  prayer.  What  matters  words 
to  the  Pure  Intelligence?  No  matter  what  they  are 
or  if  none  at  all,  if  the  heart  is  only  right  its  peti- 
tions will  never  be  denied,  and  be  sure  Uncle  Phil 
prayed  right  from  his  heart.  "Oh,  blessed  Marster 
in  Heabin !  hear  ole  Uncle  Phil  dis  time,  y'u  knows 
y'use'f  dat  he  don't  pester  y'u  often,  but  please,  good 
Lordy !  take  it  all  outen  on  dis  ole  no-count  nigger, 
but  spar'  dat  chile.  She  is  one  ob  de  Southamptons, 
an'  'tain't  fa'r  fer  her  terbe  'flicted." 

Left  alone  with  Smith,  Gerry's  whole  body  quiv- 
ered like  an  aspen  leaf.  What  had  he  to  say  to  her? 
What  could  she  say  to  him?  She  had  no  strength  of 
her  own,  but  as  an  inspiration  it  came  to  her,  that 
she  must  look  to  God  for  help,  and  mutely  she 
prayed. 

At  last  Smith  spoke — he  saw  how  she  was  suffer- 
ing— and  he  was  tortured — and  the  interview  must 
be  got  over ;  his  tones  were  husky — utterance  gave 
him  pain.  "Gerry,  I  wrish  that  I  could  say  I  had 
loved  you  only  as  a  woman,  but  it  was  worship !  and 


UNCLE  PHIL.  233 

standing  here  remembering  there  was  no  one  but 
myself  to  blame,  and  that  in  my  blinded  folly  I 
brought  a  grief  upon  myself  that  I  wonder  how  I 
life.  It  seems  to  me  that  at  times  evil  spirits  are 
given  power  over  us  to  work  our  ruin.  I  cannot  ask 
you  to  pardon  me — to  think  kindly  of  me;  but  I  did 
love  you  so !  do  love  you  so !  that  I  dare  not  look 
longer  upon  you." 

Gerry  looked  up  quickly,  her  face  flushing — he 
did  not  then  think  meanly  of  her ;  and  after  this  as- 
surance life  would  be  less  hard — and,  woman-like, 
she  could  repress  her  own  agony  to  comfort  him. 

"Paul,"  she  said,  "it  was  all  my  fault.  Your 
words  were  few,  and  my  childish  understanding 
could  not  guess  the  ardor  of  your  devotion  which, 
I  feared,  was  only  a  passing  fancy.  My  stepmother 
said  so,  and  when  she  said  that  you  had  been  only 
amusing  yourself  at  my  expense  that  made  me  fran- 
tic. But  why  dwell  on  that  which  followed?  We 
are  now  separated  by  a  gulf  which  neither  you  nor 
I  can  pass.  There  is  nothing  but  to  say  farewell, 
and  each  of  us  to  walk  our  appointed  way.  And, 
God  forgive  me!  but  I  cannot  wish  you  the  happi- 
ness which  would  come  in  forgetfulness  of  me.  Let 
ine  go  now,  please.  You  are  a  man  ancl  strong,  and 
I  am  a  poor,  broken-hearted  woman  and  must  flee 
the  temptation — almost  the  irresistible  temptation, 
to  ask  that  I  may  stay  with  you." 

"You  are  right,"  he  answered.    "I  must  consider 


234  UNCLE  PHIL. 

you,  and  will  at  once  prepare  a  flag  of  truce  to  get 
you  to" — he  could  not  say  your  husband — "where 
I  hope  you  may  be  safe.  Sit  down,  my  own,"  she 
remembered  long  afterward  how  carefully  ho  ar- 
ranged his  cape  and  how  tenderly  he  seated  her 
upon  it.  "I  wish  now  to  speak  to  Uncle  Phil." 

He  found  that  aged  colored  person,  his  orisons 
concluded,  all  huddled  together,  his  chin  resting  on 
his  up-drawn  knees.  The  old  do  not  shed  tears  with 
facility,  but  his  features  were  twisting  into  divers 
contortions  expressive  of  great  grief.  With  an  im- 
pulse, resulting  from  a  life-habit  of  extreme  polite- 
ness, he  was  rising  to  stand  respectfully. 

"Keep  your  seat,  Uncle  Phil,"  said  Smith  sitting 
down  beside  him.  "I  need  not  ask  you  to  take  as 
good  care  of  your  young  lady  as  you  can,  and  to 
procure  for  her  such  comforts  as  are  attainable,  but 
you  may  need  means.  Take  this,"  he  said,  placing 
a  roll  of  notes  into  Uncle  Phil's  hand. 

That  exemplary  person  wras  fairly  galvanized  into 
action,  springing  up  with  the  elasticity  of  youth. 
Money  only  figured  in  the  storehouse  of  his  memory 
among  other  past  delights. 

"Good  Gawd  A'mighty !"  he  burst  out  emitting  a 
chuckle.  "Oh,  my  blessed  Marster  in  Heabin !"  But 
he  immediately  grew  solemn  and  sad,  and  made  an- 
swer, respectful  but  firm.  "No,  I  carn't  take  cha'ge 
ob  it.  We  ain't  never  bin  starbed  ter  death  yit,  do 
we  ain't  been  libin  on  no  nick-nacks,  an'  ter  speak 


UNCLE  PHIL.  235 

squar'ly,  I  think  it  would  be  onbecomin'  in  me  an' 
Miss  Gerry  ter  be  libin  on  y'u  money.  But  ef  y'u 
ain't  got  no  dejections  I  would  like  jes  ter  count  it 
ober  ter  sorter  'member  me  of  ole  times  when  nuth- 
in'  was  skase."  Almost  lovingly  Uncle  Phil  feasted 
his  eyes  on  the  greenbacks,  which  he  then,  with  ten- 
der fingers,  formed  into  a  roll,  and  slowly,  and,  in 
truth,  grudgingly,  handed  back  to  the  owner,  but  he 
bravely  said,  "No,  Marse  Paul,  me  an'  Miss  Gerry 
can't  take  none  ob  y'u  small  change — her  papa 
wouldn't  like  it.  But  ef  y'u  wus  ter  git  er  poun'  ob 
coffee  fer  Miss  Gerry,  an'  er  pa'r  ob  butes  fer  me,  I 
wouldn't  feel  called  on  ter  ree-cline  one  nor  de 
oder." 

The  arrangements  were  soon  made — fortunately 
Smith  had  it  in  his  power  to  gratify  Uncle  Phil 
about  the  boots  and  the  coffee — and  his  own  orderly, 
with  a  small  guard,  was  detailed  to  be  the  bearer  of 
the  all-protecting  white  symbol. 

Smith  was  a  self-contained  man,  rarely  showing 
outward  sign  of  his  emotions,  yet  his  face  was  white 
with  pain  when  he  faced  Gerry  to  speak  farewell. 
He  clasped  her  hand,  his  words  coming  slowly — he 
never  had  many  at  command,  and  now  they  almost 
refused  to  come  at  all :  "Good-bye,  Gerry — perhaps 
I  may  never  look  on  your  sweet  face  again — but  God 
bless  you  forever  and  forever." 

"True,  Paul,"  she  answered,  fearlessly  raising  her 
clear  eyes  to  his,  "we  may  perhaps  on  this  earth 


236  UNCLE  PHIL. 

not  meet  again,  and  let  us  now  understand  each 
other — we  never  did.  I  wish  to  tell  you  that  no 
matter  how  much  appearances  are  against  me  I 
am  faithful  to  the  vows  pledged  to  you  on  the  deck 
of  the  old  McKim.  I  am  not,  except  in  name,  nor 
ever  shall  be,  death  first !  any  man's  wife  but  yours. 
Ah !  Paul,"  she  continued,  keeping  back  a  sob,  "it 
is  not  always  the  love  of  pleasure  that  leads  us  into 
folly  and  into  sin.  Even  stronger  is  the  impulse 
that  incites  us  to  evil  expecting  good  may  come  of 
it.  When  we  are  woefully  beset,  troubled  on  all 
sides,  lost,  and  no  light  to  guide,  which  path  seems 
to  be  the  path  exacted  by  Heaven  but  the  rough  and 
briery  one.  But  oh!  it  does  seem  so  cruelly  hard 
to  sacrifice  everything  for  a  principle,  although  it 
may  be  a  perverted  one,  without  at  least  securing 
the  reward  of  an  approving  conscience.  I  do  not 
say  it  to  excuse  myself,  but  as  some  palliation  of 
what  I  did  in  that  dark  time.  I  had  promised  my 
dead  father — the  dead!"  there  wras  infinite  pathos 
in  her  appealing  looks,  "and  I  had  always  been  all 
the  world  to  him !  and  w*hen  he  lay  dying  who  was 
there  but  me  whom  he  could  ask  to  care  for  that 
poor  woman.  I  did  not  pause  to  reflect— but  it  did 
not  matter — for  what  I  promised  him  then  I  would, 
under  the  same  pressure,  promise  him  now,  to  con- 
sult her  wishes  in  preference  to  my  own.  She  was 
like  wax  in  the  hands  of  Hamilton — and  I  was 


UNCLE  PHIL.  237 

forced  to  be  wax  in  hers.  I  could  not  help  myself." 
Smith  broke  out  in  fierce  maledictions. 
"She  is  dead,  Paul,"  Gerry  interposed  gently, 
"and  I  forgave  her.  She  died  clinging  to  me.  And 
is  it  not  strange  that  my  heart  did  not  then  leap 
from  its  place  and  burst?  The  sense  of  utter  misery 
was  powerless  to  confuse  the  strength  of  facts  from 
which  there  were  no  evasion,  no  appeal — I  had  been 
deprived  of  everything,  even  self-respect.  Oh, 
Paul !  Paul !  you  cannot  imagine  what  a  degraded 
creature  I  feel  myself  to  be;  and  what  mean  feel- 
ings of  envy  take  possession  of  me  whenever  I  am  in 
the  company  of  a  good  woman  and  her  husband. 
And  I  am  so  curiously  revolutionized.  I  who  was 
brought  up  so  widely  removed  from  poverty  and 
labor.  I  now  never  pass  a  one-room  cottage  in  the 
late  afternoon,  when  the  sun  is  going  down,  that  I 
do  not  wish  it  had  been  Heaven's  will  that  we  two 
were  living  there  together — you  would  then  be  com- 
ing home  from  your  work,  and  I  would  be  cooking 
your  supper." 

"Stop,  Gerry,"  commanded  Smith,  "I  feel  myself 
not  better  than  a  wild  beast  when  compared  with 
you.  There  are  heights,  lengths  and  depths  in  your 
heart  it  was  never  in  me  to  even  dream  of.  And  per- 
haps heaven  was  only  taking  care  of  its  own  in  sav- 
ing you  from  my  rough  keeping.  I  would  only  have 
marred  your  life.  You  are  one  of  the  few  of  God's 
creatures  fitted  by  nature  for  the  crucial  tests.  You 


238  UNCLE  PHIL. 

have  passed  through  the  heated  furnace  and 
emerged  pure.  You  have  been  weighed  in  the  bal- 
ance and  not  found  wanting,  and  therefore,  by  uni- 
versal acquiescence,  pronounced  good.  I  would 
rather  be  your  slave  than  any  other  woman's  king. 

"Kightf ully  you  are  mine ;  mine  in  spirit  and  in 
truth !  and  I  bless  God  for  the  knowledge.  It  will 
make  me  more  contented.  And  I  will  try,  with 
Heaven's  help,  to  be  a  better  man.  I  have  done 
very  little  of  good  in  this  world — always  ill-tem- 
pered and  selfish.  But  it  is  not  too  late  to  mend, 
and,  Gerry,  in  the  future  should  you  ever  hear  any- 
thing creditable  of  me  be  sure  that  you  are  the  cause 
of  it."  He  had  been  holding  her  hands  in  his;  he 
gently  presses  them;  she  feels  the  elastic  quiver  of 
repressed  strength,  and  sees  in  his  eyes  the  look  of 
love  far  beyond  words  to  express.  "Good-bye,  dar- 
ling— I  may  not  kiss  you,  yet  God  knows  your 
sweet  lips  are  mine !  Farewell,  farewell !" 

Thus  they  parted.  God's  ways  are  not  our  ways. 
Yet  sometimes  it  is  permitted  us  to  see  that  He 
deals  with  His  children  in  mercy ;  shutting  out  the 
eager  feet  from  the  flower-decked  main  underneath 
which  lies  a  deadly  morass,  and  leading  to  safety 
through  a  briery  path. 

The  discipline  was  necessary  for  Paul  Smith,  to 
teach  him  lessons  of  patience,  and  of  usefulness  to 
his  kind,  and  to  bring  him  to  his  God.  And  to  Gerry, 
it  made  of  her  a  ministering  angel.  And  it  cannot 


UNCLE  PHIL.  239 

be  but  those  few  years  out  of  her  young  life  dedi- 
cated to  the  cause  of  humanity  were  given  in  vain, 
or  were  a  useless  sacrifice,  or  without  reward.  Men 
died  blessing  her — wounded  men  prayed  for  her, 
and  surely  benedictions  from  hearts  laden  with 
gratitude  must  possess  the  prerogative  of  conferring 
blessings  far  beyond  those  usually  allotted  to  mor- 
tals. 


240  UNCLE  PHIL. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

CARRYING    THE    DISPATCH. 

"Heaven  is  above  all;    there  sits  a  judge 
No  King  can  corrupt." 

According  to  the  Northern  newspapers,  the  rebel 
General  de  Courcy  who  had  acquired  no  little  celeb- 
rity for  the  brilliancy  and  the  audacity  of  his  at- 
tacks, was  massing  a  force  for  the  purpose  of  "hit- 
ting out"  somewhere.  But  the  best  of  human  wis- 
dom is  frequently  erroneous.  At  this  time  General 
de  Courcy  had  no  intention  to  strike  anywhere,  he 
was  "only  praying  to  be  let  alone"  while  engaged 
in  collecting  provisions  to  meet  the  pressing  de- 
mands farther  south. 

So  far  his  most  strenuous  efforts  had  met  with 
discouragements ;  the  bacon  and  corn  had  not  only 
been  "hard  to  come  by,"  but  it  had  been  more  diffi- 
cult still  to  find  means  of  transportation.  The  posi- 
tion, however,  was  an  advantageous  one,  and  that 
he  would  not  be  allowed  to  occupy  it  in  peace  and 
quietude  much  longer  he  well  knew,  but  it  was  im- 
portant to  his  cause  to  remain  there  so  long  as  he 
could — but  he  "must  not  permit  himself  to  be 
caught" — there  was  the  rub. 

He  sat  alone  in  his  tent  gravely  considering  his 


UNCLE  PHIL.  241 

situation.  His  information  was  reliable  as  to  the 
location  and  strength  of  the  Federal  detachments 
nearest  to  him,  and  his  own  force  was  not  inconsid- 
erable. "They  will  not  attempt,"  he  muttered,  "to 
drive  me  back  until  reinforced  from  Nashville, 
which  will  be  soon.  And  oh !  wouldn't  it  be  a  thing 

o 

divinely  done,"  he  smiled  grimly,  "to  find  out  posi- 
tively when  that  move  will  be  made.  But  what 
would  be  the  use  of  risking  a  messenger — this  war 
has  been  going  on  so  long  that  all  sorts  of  dodges 
are  as  transparent  as  a  woman's  veil." 

General  de  Courcy  was  as  little  given  as  any  offi- 
cer alive  to  the  sparing  of  his  soldiers,  looking  on 
them  as  he  did,  as  mere  machines  for  destruction 
and  to  be  destroyed ;  yet  he  was  an  able  commander 
and  knew  his  duty  too  well  to  risk  even  a  single  life 
in  the  face  of  certain  failure.  He  shook  his  head, 
not  seeing  his  way  one  inch  about  how  to  obtain  the 
momentous  intelligence. 

Suddenly  his  face  brightens — he  is  not  the  first 
commander  indebted  to  chance  for  important  re- 
sults— and  yet  it  was  no  more  than  the  hearing  in 
the  distance  a  clear  sweet  voice  singing : 

"And  never  another  can  ruffle  it  here, 
Like  the  lads  of  the  snaffle,  spur,  and  spear." 

An  idea  flashed  across  the  mind  of  General  de 
Courcy  like  an  inspiration ;  he  rose  quickly  and  sent 
an  orderly  to  "fetch  young  Mr.  Fane." 


242  UNCLE  PHIL. 

Of  all  the  dare-devils  in  the  Army  of  the  South, 
and  their  name  was  legion,  Eeggie  Fane  was  the 
most  splendidly  reckless.  At  the  word  "Charge!" 
he  was  off  like  a  fiery  scorpion--no  authority  could 
keep  him  back — and  in  advance  of  his  squadron,  he 
would  dash  pell-mell  in  the  midst  of  the  enemy,  and 
with  his  bright  blade  flashing  he  fought  like  a  de- 
mon. And  marvelous  seemed  his  immunity  from 
danger,  men  fell  in  heaps  all  around,  and  he  es- 
caped scathless. 

General  de  Courcy  loved  him  as  the  apple  of 
his  eye,  and  after  every  engagement  never  failed 
to  reprove  him  for  his  rashness,  and  always  ended 
his  reproof  by  saying :  "You  ought  to  be  at  school, 
sir."  And  so  he  ought  to  have  been,  he  was  only 
sixteen  years  of  age. 

Very  soon  a  slight  stripling  entered  the  Gener- 
al's tent,  saluted,  and  stood  at  attention. 

For  a  moment  General  de  Courcy  regarded  him 
searchingly,  taking  in  every  detail  of  the  boy's  ex- 
quisite beauty.  The  sun  and  wind,  "those  char- 
tered libertines,"  had  dealt  kindly  with  the  fairness 
and  bloom  of  his  complexion;  his  perfect  features 
were  delicate  in  their  outlines,  and  his  light  chest- 
nut hair  had  been  blown  by  the  wind  into  a  tangled 
mass  of  silky  curls.  With  immutable  composure 
he  stood  sustaining  the  piercing  glances  of  his  Gen- 
eral, who  seemed  in  no  hurry  to  speak;  and  when 
at  last  he  opened  his  mouth  it  was  apparently  to 


UNCLE  PHIL.  243 

give  vent  only  to  some  irrelevant  side  issue,  so  little 
did  his  remark  appear  to  bear  upon  the  burning 
question  that  then  absorbed  his  mind.  "You  are 
not  a  man." 

The  boy's  eyes  twinkled  as  if  some  humorous 
reminiscence  had  been  suggested. 

"Perhaps  not,  General ;  still  I  think  you  must  ad- 
mit that  you  have  seen  me  when  I  was  a  pretty 
good  imitation  of  one." 

The  General,  declining  to  enter  into  explana- 
tions, said  abruptly: 

"I  want  some  one  to  go  to  Nashville." 

"Meaning  Reginald  Fane?"  asked  the  boy. 

A  nod  was  the  sole  response. 

A  look  of  decision  beyond  his  years — lads  were 
early  trained  in  that  rough  warfaring  period — 
came  into  young  Fane's  eyes  as  he  answered : 

"I  am  Southern  born,  and  ready  at  any  moment 
to  give  my  life  to  my  native  land,  but  I  would  pre- 
fer it  to  be  on  the  battle-field,  and,  frankly,  General 
de  Courcy,  I  do  not  care  to  be  a  spy,  and  request  to 
be  excused  from  this  particular  duty.  I  have  fol- 
lowed you  long,  but  here  I  draw  bridle." 

"Reggie,"  said  the  General  in  his  deep  tones,  "I 
do  not  ask  you  to  take  a  step  I  would  shrink  from 
myself.  Could  I  change  places  with  you  I  would 
go  unhesitatingly." 

The  boy  thawed. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  General,"  was  the  prompt 


244  UNCLE  PHIL. 

answer,  "for  being  just  a  trifle  obtuse;  but  I  do  not 
doubt  that,  if  I  live  long  enough,  I  will  get  over 
squeamishness.  However,  I  am  now  quite  willing 
to  receive  your  instructions,  and  will  carry  them 
out  to  the  best  of  my  ability." 

"Reggie,"  said  General  de  Courcy  in  tones  he 
did  not  often  employ  in  speaking  to  his  subordi- 
nates, "I  do  not  know  how  this  war  will  end. 
IS  either  do  I  know  how  right  it  was  to  bring  it  on, 
but  I  do  know,  that  now  we  are  in  for  it,  doubts  and 
regrets  are  out  of  place.  We  have  drawn  the 
sword,  the  scabbard  is  thrown  away,  and  I  would 
not  spare  my  son!  The  mission  I  am  going  to 
send  you  on  is  one  of  extraordinary  danger,  re- 
quiring extraordinary  address.  Yet  if  you  succeed 
in  my  design  it  will  be  of  great  benefit  to  us." 

He  hesitated  as  if  reluctant  to  explain  his  plans. 
"Reggie,  you  will  get  to  Nashville;  choose  your  own 
way.  When  you  arrive  there  go  at  once  to  the  resi- 
dence of  Mrs.  Thompson.  She  lives  in  Blank  street, 
No.  137.  This  lady  has  a  daughter,  Miss  Thompson, 
who  will  be  willing  on  application  to  furnish  you 
with  all  you  may  need  of  her.  own  clothing."  Reg- 
gie started,  and  seemed  inclined  to  bolt,  but  re- 
covered himself.  "You  will  then  find  out  at  what 
hotel  General  Thorne  and  his  niece  are  stopping. 
Then,  in  the  character  of  a  young  lady,  establish 
yourself  at  the  same  hotel,  plausibly;  then  make 
the  acquaintance  of  the  General's  niece,  casually, 


UNCLE  PHIL.  245 

and  select  a  suitable  time  to  communicate  to  her 
that  you  are  sent  from  me,  and  that  I  wish  timely 
warning  when  a  force  will  be  sent  out  from  Nash- 
ville to  operate  against  me." 

"General  de  Courcy,"  said  the  boy  in  amazement, 
if  not  in  horror,  "do  you  mean  to  say  that  the  niece 
of  General  Thorne  will  be  willing  to  furnish  you 
with  that  information?" 

Imagine  the  feelings  of  a  Greek  professor  when 
brought  to  book  by  a  controverting  freshman.  In 
military  affairs  the  pressure  on  private  judgment 
is  even  greater  than  in  universities.  General  de 
Courcy,  however,  only  smiled  indulgently,  and  an- 
swered : 

"This  fratricidal  war,  my  boy,  is  a  horrid  war,  and 
while  General  Thome's  niece  has  and  will  continue 
to  aid  us  in  any  way  in  her  power,  it  is  likely,  I 
may  say  absolutely  sure,  that  General  Thorne  has 
a  friend  with  us  equally  zealous  to  serve  him." 

Young  Fane  boyishly  put  two  fingers  to  his  lips 
and  subduedly  imitated  a  steam  whistle. 

"Well,  it  really  does  appear,"  he  said,  "that  if 
both  sides,  North  and  South,  were  evened  up,  we 
would  be  where  we  were  before  the  war — all  at 
peace,  and  in  brotherly  love." 

Whilst  Reginald  Fane  did  not  like  this  expedition 
planned  for  him,  he  was  not  inexperienced  in  the 
masquerading  part  of  it.  In  private  theatricals  he 
had  impersonated  lovely  women  with  signal  sue- 


£46  UNCLE  PtilL. 

cess.  But  there  non-success  would  not  have  en- 
tailed any  very  serious  consequences.  Failure 
here  meant  a  shameful  death.  "Though,"  reasoned 
the  gallant  boy,  "if  the  risk  must  be  encountered, 
why  not  I  as  well  as  another?"  and  he  answered 
quite  resignedly: 

"Well,  General,  I  am  good  to  try.  When  do  you 
wish  me  to  set  out  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  the 
ladies,  Thompson  and  General  Thome's  niece?  But 
it  really  does  look  queer  to  me  that  you  depend  so 
much  on  women.  Of  their  enthusiasm  there  can  be 
no  doubt,  but  in  important  matters,  where  men's 
lives  are  at  stake,  I  would  prefer  to  chance  the 
steadiness  of  a  man." 

"That's  because  you  are  so  young,  Reggie,  and 
have  not  yet  learned  that  when  a  woman  really  is 
in  earnest  she  is  as  true  as  steel  and  equal  to  any 
danger.  The  Southern  women  are  terribly  in  earn- 
est ;  but  for  them  this  war  would  have  faded  out  in 
six  months.  I  wish  you  to  start  at  once,  and,  Reg- 
gie, I  am  imposing  on  you  a  great  trust;  there  is 
more  depending  on  your  success  than  I  can  explain, 
and  while  I  know  you  can  be  discreet  beyond  your 
years,  and  there  is  little  I  can  advise,  yet  I  would 
caution  you  about  your  deportment  when  at  the 
hotel  in  Nashville.  You  must  never  forget  yourself 
and  sit  down  with  your  feet  sprawling  wide  apart ; 
but  you  must  keep  them  well  together  and  hid  under 
the  folds  of  your  gown.  And  above  all,  do  not  let 


UNCLE  PHIL.  247 

a  spirit  of  mischief  lead  you  into  attempting  flirta- 
tions with  the  Federal  officers.  Inevitably  you  must 
meet  with  them,  but  be  reserved,  and  keep  them  all 
at  a  distance,  like  a  modest,  properly  behaving 
young  lady." 

"Modest,  properly  behaving  young  ladies," 
blurted  out  Reggie,  "are  not  found  at  public  hotels 
without  a  chaperon;  I  may  be  young,  but  I  know 
that.  And  I  know  that  appearances  will  be  against 
me,  and  that  I  just  will  be  obliged  to  conduct  my- 
self with  faultless  discretion,  otherwise  my  career 
will  be  brief.  But  on  this  head  you  may  rest  easy, 
General;  should  any  of  the  blue-coats  fall  victims 
to  my  charms  it  will  be  from  pure  cussedness.  I  am 
not  going  to  encourage  any  of  them.  It  would  suit 
me  to  be  treated  with  indifference  bordering  on 
contempt.  Therefore,  if  you  have  nothing  further 
to  add  give  me  my  password  and  I  will  light  out  on 
my  outing.  My  departure  from  camp  must  not  be, 
I  suppose,  attended  with  flourish  of  trumpet  or  beat 
of  drum.  The  sooner  I  am  off  the  sooner  I  will  re- 
turn— perhaps." 

A  word  was  whispered  in  his  ear,  he  then  sa- 
luted and  stepped  briskly  out  from  the  General's 
tent,  that  officer  looked  after  him  wistfully,  mut- 
tering under  his  breath :  "I  wish  this  cursed  war 
at  an  end,  and  I  don't  know  that  I  am  so  overly  par- 
ticular how  it  ends,  but  till  the  wind-up  comes  I 
must  do  my  duty." 


248  UNCLE  PHIL. 

He  had  chosen  his  envoy  with  rare  sagacity.  In 
times  of  war,  particularly  civil  war,  it  is  not  un- 
common to  see  old  heads  on  young  shoulders,  but 
it  was  something  marvelous  the  dexterity  with 
which  Reggie  Fane  managed  his  dangerous  enter- 
prise. He  got  into  Nashville  "without  a  bobble," 
and  adroitly  established  himself  at  the  Nashville 
House  in  the  character  of  Miss  Forney,  a  young 
lady  who  expected  to  meet  her  grandmother  and 
was  ineffably  disconcerted  at  having  arrived  first. 
Words  can  hardly  do  justice  to  the  beauty  of  his 
behavior — reserved  even  with  ladies.  And  his  timid- 
ity in  receiving  the  courteous  attentions  of  the 
numerous  U.  S.  officers  who  thronged  the  hotel  was 
touching.  He  showed  no  anxiety  to  make  the  ac- 
quaintance of  General  Thome's  niece  while  con- 
triving to  bring  it  about  in  the  most  natural  and 
casual  manner  imaginable,  and  the  password  whis- 
pered by  his  General  placed  them  at  once  en  rap- 
port. The  niece  readily  promised  her  assistance. 
"I  will  give  you  the  information,"  she  said,  "when 
I  can  get  it,  but  such  things  cannot  be  done  in  any 
set  way — I  must  wait  for  the  opportunity  to  serve." 

To  impose  as  little  confidence  as  possible  seemed 
to  Master  Reggie  extreme  wisdom,  and  he  saw  no 
object  to  gain  by  revealing  his  sex  to  Miss  Thome, 
who  had  no  suspicion  of  the  truth.  Indeed,  it 
seemed  to  her  the  very  acme  of  good  policy  that  the 
rebel  General  should  choose  a  female  for  this  deli- 


UNCLE  PHIL.  249 

cate  service;  and  this  female  was  so  attractive  of 
appearance,  and  gentle  of  manner,  as  to  at  once 
win  the  regard  of  General  Thome's  niece,  and  she 
said,  with  the  kindest  intention :  "Miss  Forney,  as 
there  will  perhaps  be  a  delay  of  some  days,  perhaps 
weeks,  and  you  are  all  alone  in  this  big  caravan- 
sary, suppose  you  share  my  room." 

Reggie  Fane  was  completely  taken  aback,  and 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life  showed  the  white  feath- 
er. He  almost  burst  into  tears,  and  stammered: 
"It  would  really  give  me  great  pleasure,  but — I 
can't!" 

Miss  Thome  was  surprised  at  this  unusual  exhi- 
bition, but  seeing  his  genuine  distress,  caid  good- 
naturedly  : 

"Oh!  very  well,  just  as  you  like — I  thought 
it  would  be  agreeable  to  you.  But  on  no  account 
must  you  shut  yourself  up  in  your  room ;  it  would 
occasion  comment — army  people  are  so  sociable.  So 
you  must  come  into  the  parlor  occasionally,  and 
take  your  meals  in  the  dining  room,  and  when 
thrown  with  the  officers  treat  them  civilly." 

There  never  has  been  a  time  since  the  world  was 
made  when  woman's  beauty  and  woman's  timidity 
did  not  appeal  irresistibly  to  manly  hearts;  and 
the  exigencies  of  war  dispenses  with  much  of 
the  usual  formalities  which  are  expected  to  give 
place  to  snap  and  vim ;  therefore,  Miss  Forney  be- 
came at  once  at  object  of  idolatry.  Even  the  elderly 


250  UNCLE  PHIL. 

heart  of  General  Thorne  surrendered  at  discre- 
tion; and  to  his  great  delight  the  diffident  young 
lady  who  drew  back  in  painful  embarrassment 
from  the  proffered  attentions  of  his  juniors,  evi- 
dently was  more  at  her  ease  with  him. 

To  make  a  long  story  short,  it  soon  became  the 
ardent  desire  of  this  gallant  upholder  of  his  coun- 
try's flag — he  had  grown  old  fighting  for  it,  and 
still  wore  the  sword  he  had  used  at  San  Juan  de 
Ulloa,  National  Bridge,  Contreras,  Cerro  Gordo, 
Molino  del  Key,  Churubusco,  Chapultepec  and  the 
City  of  Mexico — to  win  this  bashful,  wayside  flower 
for  his  own.  Poor  gentleman !  it  seemed  bitter  irony 
that  he  who  in  his  manly  prime  had  never  been  so 
much  as  tapped  on  the  shoulder  by  Dan  Cupid 
should  now  bring  his  honest  affection  to  where 
they  had  no  business.  But  that  did  not  affect  the 
question  or  prevent  General  Thorne  from  really 
feeling  very  happy.  So  happy  that  he  quite  neg- 
lected the  rebel  General  de  Courcy,  who  was  act- 
ively improving  his  golden  opportunities  and  dis- 
patching many  wagon  loads  southward  of  the 
staples  of  life — meat  and  corn. 

From  his  sweet  dream  General  Thorne  was 
aroused  by  a  direct  inquiry  from  the  War  Depart- 
ment "why  he  did  not  move  against  the  rebel  De 
Courcy?"  Pulling  himself  together,  he  determined 
to  strike  soon  and  hard,  and  return  quickly  to  his 
charmer. 


tNCLE  PHIL.  251 

No  matter  what  be  the  urgency  of  the  need  a 
corps  d'armie  cannot  start  on  the  spur  of  the  mo- 
ment, for  a  distant  delivery  of  battle.  It  must 
make  ready,  and  in  making  ready  General  Thorne 
certainly  displayed  the  most  energetic  activity.  The 
bustle  of  preparation  had  hardly  commenced  when 
the  General's  niece  handed  a  folded  paper  to  Miss 
Forney  and  suggested  its  delivery  to  General  de 
Courcy  without  loss  of  time.  Reginald  Fane  felt  a 
thrill  of  rapture. 

His  days  of  enforced  idleness  had  been  days  of 
moral  and  physical  torture.  He  pined  with  the 
longing  of  a  caged  bird  for  the  careless  gayety  of 
the  rough  camp  he  had  left  behind,  and  which  to 
rejoin  would  be  a  wrork  of  difficulty,  and  must  be 
begun  at  once.  He  displayed  strategy  of  a  high  or- 
der in  the  manner  by  which  he  contrived  to  pass 
unnoticed  from  the  crowded  hotel.  And,  avoiding 
populous  streets,  he  threaded  his  sinuous  way  until 
he  saw  not  very  far  distant  the  blessed  haven  of 
Mrs.  Thompson's  roof,  under  which  the  female 
dress,  that  not  only  hampered  his  limbs,  but  more, 
it  seemed  to  narrow  his  mental  and  moral  nature, 
could  be  exchanged  for  his  own  glorious  and  much- 
prized  masculine  habiliments.  Suddenly,  as  if 
dropped  from  the  clouds,  General  Thorne  stood  be- 
fore him.  Young  Fane's  blue  eyes  gleamed  with 
that  wicked  light  first  seen  when  Cain  struck 
down  his  brother,  and  a  sharp-edged  stiletto  flashed 


£52  UNCLE  PHIL. 

in  the  sunlight.  "Don't  try  to  stop  me,  or  by  God 
I'll  kill  you !"  he  said  in  a  hissing  whisper. 

A  braver  or  a  readier  man  never  lived  than  Gen- 
eral Thorne,  but  he  staggered  back,  as  if  confronted 
by  a  horrible  apparition  conjured  by  some  unhoty 
incantation.  "Oh,  my  Lord !"  he  groaned,  as  if  lie 
had  received  a  mortal  stab.  His  knees  smote  to- 
gether and  his  forehead  was  damp  with  an  awful 
dew.  "Oh,  merciful  heavens!  what  has  happened 
to  me?"  A  deep  sob  burst  from  him.  His  pious 
ejaculations  seemed  an  exorcism,  for  the  vision  was 
no  longer  before  him,  it  had  disappeared.  He 
moved  on  slowly.  A  depression  as  from  beyond 
the  grave  completely  mastered  him  as  he  recalled 
the  past.  "I  have  always  been  too  forward  in  bat- 
tle, and  the  blood  I  have  shed  has  come  back  in  a 
frightful,  a  material  form — it  has  assumed  the  form 
I  love  best — to  torment  me.  Perhaps  it  foretells  my 
approaching  doom ;  and  some  poor  spirit  has  come 
back  from  its  unquiet  prison  house  to  say  to  me: 
'We  shall  meet  again  at  Philippi !'  Lord  help  me ! 
Lord  help  me!"  Ill  in  body  and  mind  he  reached 
the  hotel  and  retired  to  his  chamber,  nor  was  he 
again  visible  until  the  morning  of  the  forward 
movement,  then  he  asked  his  niece:  "Where  is 
Miss  Forney?" 

"Lying  down  in  her  room  suffering  with  a  head- 
ache," was  the  prompt  answer. 

General  Thorne  felt   an   emotion   of   pleasure, 


UNCLE  PHIL.  253 

doubtless  she  was  distressed  that  he  was  starting 
for  battle. 

"Could  I  not  see  her  just  for  a  moment — to  take 
leave?"  he  asked,  almost  piteously. 

"Certainly  not,"  was  the  decided  answer,  "Miss 
Forney  has  nerves,  and  they  are  troubling  her  at 
present.  She  nearly  snapped  niy  head  off  a  minute 
ago  when  I  recommended  a  teaspoonful  of  vale- 
rian." 

General  Thorne  wras  disappointed  at  not  seeing 
Miss  Forney,  yet  he  felt  some  satisfaction;  it  was 
encouraging  that  her  headache  and  his  going  away 
should  be  simultaneous. 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  Master  Reggie's  dis- 
appearance from  General  Thome's  bewildered  sight 
was  owing  to  a  rapid  flank  movement,  skillfully  ex- 
ecuted ;  and  that  he  lost  no  time  in  reaching  cover 
and  replacing  his  feminine  garb  with  his  own  rough 
costume,  which,  thanks  to  Mrs.  Thompson,  had  been 
washed  and  the  crowning  luxury  of  cleanliness 
was  added  to  its  suitability. 

The  good  fortune  which  seemed  to  have  marked 
him  for  her  own  did  not  desert  the  young  tactician 
until  he  had  evaded  the  various  lines  of  pickets  and 
was  well  out  on  his  way  back  to  the  uncomfortable 
camp  to  which  he  was  attached.  How  sharply  it 
contrasted  with  the  well-appointed  accommoda- 
tions  for  soldiers  he  had  just  left ;  but,  oh !  he  did 
so  yearn  to  see  it  again,  and  how  glad  and  free  he 


254:  UNCLE  PHIL. 

felt !  he  could  scarcely  refrain  from  shouting  with 
joy.  He  felt  inclined  to  sing,  and  was  just  ready 
to  uplift  a  merry  stave. 

Young  people  will  not  see  it;  but  their  elders 
have  seen  it  and  know  that  from  a  cloudless  sky 
a  thunderbolt  not  infrequently  strikes ;  and  that  it 
is  always  better  to  wait  for  the  coming  of  night  be- 
fore praising  a  fair  day.  If  he  had  not  been  so  pre- 
occupied with  his  foolish  joy  he  would  have  ob- 
served and  avoided  that  group  of  Federal  soldiers 
in  front  of  him.  Now  it  was  too  late;  he  was  almost 
in  their  midst.  They,  too,  were  taken  by  surprise 
as  they  lounged  on  the  grass — a  party  of  scouts — 
each  man  holding  his  horse  by  the  bridle-rein 
loosely,  or  not  at  all,  so  busy  were  they  in  eating 
a  luncheon. 

Instinct  is  heaven  born,  and  sometimes  serves 
in  better  stead  than  the  most  elaborate  process  of 
ratiocination;  and  our  youngster  was  excelled  in 
cheek  by  no  son  of  Adam.  "My  eyes !  my  hearties !" 
he  drawled,  sauntering  up,  "are  you  game  for  a 
partner  in  your  grub?" 

A  beautiful  thoroughbred,  with  its  large  and  in- 
telligent eyes  and  upraised  graceful  head — its 
bridle-rein  thrown  over  the  protuberant  part  of  the 
saddle-bow — stood  near.  "A  nicish  bit  of  horse- 
flesh !  Say,  now,  where  did  you  come  up  with  that 
Kentucky  racer?"  asked  Reggie  Fane,  wriggling 


UNCLE  PHIL.  255 

along  until  at  the  horse's  side.  Then  quick  as  a 
flash  he  was  in  the  saddle  and  galloping  away. 

Fifteen  or  twenty  guns  were  raised. 

"Don't  shoot,  men !"  ordered  the  leader.  "Mount 
and  follow ;  that  booming  water-course  three  miles 
ahead  will  stop  him.  The  young  scamp  deserves 
a  canter  for  his  smartness." 

It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  the  boundless, 
rollicking,  exhilarating  joy  that  throbbed  through 
and  through  every  nerve  and  fiber  of  Reggie's  body 
as  he  felt  the  bounding  of  the  good  horse  under 
him.  Even  the  importance  of  his  mission  and  his 
peril  could  not  destroy  the  exquisite  pleasure  of  the 
rapid  motion. 

Let  no  one  deny  the  good-fellowship  that  not  in- 
frequently exists  between  steed  and  rider.  By  some 
mysterious  process,  in  a  life-and-death  crisis,  the 
heart  and  mind  of  each  are  linked  together  in  one 
common  impulse,  and  Reggie  felt  sure  that  his 
silent  friend  was  a  friend  indeed,  and  would  neither 
falter  nor  fail.  On,  on  he  went,  his  pursuers  hard 
behind,  until  not  three  hundred  yards  in  his  front 
his  quick  eye  caught  the  glitter  of  a  broad  rolling 
stream,  which  like  a  band  of  silver  lay  across  his 
way.  He  heard  the  peals  of  the  loud  laughter  be- 
hind. "Caught  in  a  trap,"  he  muttered :  "But  we'll 
try  for  freedom!  won't  we  my  beauty?"  he  apos- 
trophized the  horse.  Glancing  backward,  to  cal- 
culate the  distance  separating  him  from  that  steady 


256  UNCLE  PHIL. 

galloping  group,  he  gently  drew  rein,  for  he  well 
knew  that  the  horse,  good  as  he  was,  required  eas- 
ing before  the  terrific  burst  of  speed  to  give  him  im- 
petus for  that  wide,  wide  leap. 

When  he  slackened  his  speed,  his  pursuers  also 
slackened  theirs,  from  a  grim  sense  of  humor,  think- 
ing his  capture  distant  only  a  short  interval  of  time. 
Warily  Eeggie  scanned  them  from  over  his  shoul- 
der while  considering  to  an  inch  the  decreasing 
margin  of  ground  before  him  until,  it  was  now  or 
never.  He  tightened  his  grasp  of  the  bridle,  and, 
bringing  into  use  every  one  of  the  many  methods 
by  which  the  practiced  rider  can  assist  a  tired  steed, 
he  urged  the  good  horse  on  to  the  leap.  There  was 
a  dash  like  the  rushing  of  a  tornado,  then  rising 
high  in  the  air,  the  swift  waters  flowing  beneath 
them,  the  good  horse  sprang  over,  and  they  are 
landed  on  the  safe  side  with  only  one  scant  inch 
to  spare. 

With  shouts  of  rage  the  baffled  pursuers  quickly 
bring  their  guns  to  bear,  and  from  the  dark  muz- 
zles leap  short  jets  of  flame,  hurling  out  the  dead- 
ly bullets.  But  without  pause,  that  young-old  boy 
took  his  horse  in  hand,  and  galloped  on  until  he 
reached  a  safe  eminence,  then  with  his  blue  eyes 
sparkling  with  mirth,  he  turned  square  around  in 
the  saddle,  and,  raising  his  cap  with  a  courteous 
movement,  shouted :  "I  hope  it  is  not  farewell,  gen- 
tlemen, only  au  revoir!" 


UNCLE  PHIL.  257 

He  then  jogged  quietly  on,  with  an  easy  stride,  to 
which  hill  or  dale  never  came  amiss,  and  the  miles 
were  swallowed  up  like  furlongs,  until  the  familiar 
camp  of  his  comrades  came  into  sight. 

His  impulse  was  to  indulge  in  "the  rebel-yell." 
But  age  is  a  question  of  experience,  not  of  time, 
and  in  consideration  of  what  he  had  gone  through 
he  thought  that  manifestation  too  boyish,  and  in 
lieu  of  which  he  began  singing: 

"We  are  the  boys  that  can  wrestle  and  ride, 

Empty  a  saddle,  and  empty  a  can; 
Keeping  the  rights  of  the  Border  side — 

Warden  to  warden,  and  man  to  man. 
Never  another  so  welcome  here 

As  the  lads  of  the  snaffle,  spur,  and  spear." 

A  soldier's  life  is  a  hard  one,  but  it  has  its  com- 
pensations— "chaff"  is  one  of  the  most  common. 

In  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time  Reggie  was 
surrounded  by  the  Gray  Jackets,  and  if  their  wel- 
come was  rough  it  was  well  meant. 

"Hip !  hip !  hurrah  for  Reggie!" 

"Reggie  is  my  darling,  the  young  chevalier !" 

"And  Reggie  it  is,  fit  as  a  fiddle  and  fine  as  a 
star !" 

"Been  a  courting,  now." 

"Reggie,  my  dear,  where  did  you  get  that  sweet 
angel  you  are  on?" 

"Keep  hands  off,  every  mother's  son  of  you,"  re- 
quested the  object  of  so  much  special  attention. 


258  UNCLE  PHIL. 

"Can't  a  body  slip  home  to  get  clean  clothes  without 
all  this  pow-wow  about  it?  As  for  the  horse,  I 
just  found  him  all  bridled  and  saddled,  ready  to 
my  hand,  and  I — borrowed  him." 

"Are  you  going  to  make  him  a  present  to  the 
General?"  asked  several  voices. 

"I  rather  guess  not.  But  where  is  the  General? 
I  had  better  go  and  explain  to  him.  I  expect  his 
ideas  are  that  I  had  gone  a  glimmering.  Answer 
some  of  you,  one  at  a  time." 

"Well,  at  present  he  is  in  his  tent  sleeping — 
thank  heaven!  I  think  he  has  been  hearing  bad 
news,  his  temper  has  got  to  be  so — fractious  is  no 
name  for  it.  And,  Keggie,  my  pet,  I  wouldn't  ad- 
vise you  to  be  the  man  to  wake  him  up ;  for  while 
he  hasn't  asked  for  you,  so  far  as  I  know, 
I've  seen  him  look  over  to  where  you  hang  out  more 
than  once." 

"Oh!  you  dry  up,  Jim  Bates,  trying  to  unhitch 
a  fellow's  nerves.  I  don't  believe  he'll  kill  me,  and 
I  can  stand  about  as  much  scare  as  the  next  one. 
Here  you,  Pete  Riley,  hold  this  quadruped  until  I 
return." 

He  dismounted  and  made  his  way  to  the  General's 
tent,  making  no  little  fuss  as  he  entered.  The 
sleeping  warrior  awoke  with  a  start,  and,  seeing 
Keggie,  looked  greatly  relieved. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you  back,  my  boy,  I  had  about 
given  you  up  as  lost." 


UNCLE  PHIL.  259 

"No,  General,  I  was  not  lost !  But  I  have  not 
been  exactly  happy.  However,  here  is  your  dis- 
patch." He  straightened  up,  saluted  and  pulled 
the  important  paper  from  his  pocket — his  fingers 
were  stiffened  and  cramped  from  the  rigid  clasp 
he  had  been  compelled  to  maintain  on  the  bridle, 
and  the  dispatch  dropped  to  the  ground;  and,  not 
being  in  an  envelope,  spread  wide  open,  the  writ- 
ing plain  for  the  reading.  And  as  Keggie  read  a 
look  of  horror  crept  into  his  face,  and  he  gazed  as 
if  a  basilisk  lay  at  his  feet. 

"What  are  you  gaping  at?"  demanded  the  Gen- 
eral. 

"Gape  yourself!"  cried  the  incensed  boy,  "and 
see  for  yourself  what  comes  of  relying  on  a  woman 
for  important  information.  She  couldn't  keep  her 
mind  away  from  her  gimcracks  long  enough  to 
see  that  she  sent  you  the  right  paper.  That  thing !" 
with  intense  contempt,  "is  a  bill  for  a  bonnet."  It 
read : 

"Herewith,  I  send  your  account  for  the  bonnet 
purchased.  Please  remit  by  Tuesday." 

"It's  all  right,  Reggie,"  said  the  General,  after  a 
hasty  glance.  "Things  sometimes  mean  more  than 
appear  on  the  surface.  My  experience  is,  you  can 
trust  a  woman  every  time." 

Reggie  was  glad  to  know  that  it  was  right; 
but  he  couldn't  see  it,  and  began  to  entertain  doubts 


260  UNCLE  PHIL. 

of  his  own  ability  to  know  what  was  what,  particu- 
larly concerning  nouns  feminine.  So  he  saluted 
and  went  out  into  the  open  air  to  look  after  and  to 
make  much  of  the  valuable  horse  recently  ac- 
quired. 

General  de  Courcy,  understanding  that  the  day 
set  for  payment  of  the  female  headwear  referred  to 
the  day  the  Federal  troops  would  march  out  of 
Nashville,  sounded  "boots  and  saddles,"  and  told 
the  men  to  "hustle." 

And  General  Thorne  arrived  in  time  only  to  find 
the  fires  extinguished,  and  the  silence  of  a  deserted 
camp.  He  went  back  to  Nashville,  and  returned 
the  report  that  the  rebel  General  had  gone  south- 
ward after  merely  making  a  reconnoissance  in 
force;  and  that  he  had  found  that  part  of  the  coun- 
try peaceable.  It  is  a  foregone  conclusion  that  his 
inquiries  concerning  Miss  Forney  were  prompt 
and  anxious. 

"Oh !"  replied  his  niece,  indifferently,  "Miss  For- 
ney is  not  here.  Owing  to  her  grandmother's  ill- 
ness, or  something  equally  unjustifiable,  she  was 
sent  for.  And  so  far  as  I  know,  like  the  fishes  of 
the  sea,  and  the  birds  of  the  air  she  has  gone,  leav- 
ing no  trace  behind  her." 

Poor  old  General  Thorne!  his  grief  was  sincere 
and  lasting.  He  had  arrived  at  that  time  of  life 
when  if  love's  light  fail,  and  the  last  rose  wither, 


UNCLE  PHIL.  261 

the  loss  cannot  be  retrieved.  Still  it  is  better  to  have 
loved  and  lost  than  never  to  have  loved  at  all.  It 
had  been  a  dream  from  Paradise,  A  phantom  star 
that  had  streamed  across  his  sky,  just  once — then 
fell  to  rise  no  more. 


262  UNCLE;  PHIL. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

MINE  EYES  HAVE  SEEN  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  LORD. 

"A  good  heart  is  the  sun  and  the  moon,  or  rather  the  sun, 
For  it  shines  bright,  and  never  changes." 

"I  wonder  that  you  never  married,  Uncle  Phil," 
began  Gerry  one  day,  trying  as  she  often  did  now 
to  divert  the  old  man  from  a  settled  melancholy, 
from  which  it  was  difficult  to  arouse  him. 

"Well,  honey,  ter  tell  de  truf,"  was  the  modest 
answer,  "dar  wus  er  dozen  er  mo'  young  gals  in 
Wirginny  dat  I  'lowed  ter  hab  hopes — but  I  drawed 
off  in  time.  Mar'age  has  its  'sponsibilities  dat  I 
dident  keer  ter  tote.  It's  wery  ill-conwenient  when 
er  'oman  gits  it  inter  her  haid  dat  she  is  boun'  ter 
sh'ar  y'u  baid  an'  bo'de.  'Sides  in  siety  er  mar'red 
man  ain't  got  no  show  erlong  'sides  ob  er  man  dat 
kin  be  kotched.  It  always  suited  me  ter  be  run 
arter.  An',"  he  continued  with  the  garrulity  of 
age,  "I  didn't  hate  mar'age  none  at  dat  time  ter 
what  I  doos  now.  But,"  hurriedly  recollecting  him- 
self, "Good  Lordy!  honey,  I  don't  mean  ter  hurt 
y'u  feelin's,  chile.  Y'u  ain't  ter  blame  fer  nuthin'. 
T'ings  happen  in  dis  world  an'  no  body  knows  how 
it  wus  doDe,"  and  trying  to  counsel  resignation,  "we 
hab  jess  got  ter  b'ar  it — dat's  all." 


UNCLE  PHIL.  263 

And  indeed  it  frequently  does  seem  that  the  priv- 
ilege of  free  action  belongs  to  no  one;  and  that  we 
are  controlled  by  the  inevitable  fetters  of  circum- 
stances, and  our  paths  limited  by  the  regulations 
of  the  part  allotted. 

Gerry's  fierce  hatred  of  Hamilton  had  given  place 
to  a  weary  disgust.  It  did  seem  so  bitter  hard, 
she  was  so  young,  that  the  old,  happy,  beautiful 
life  should  be  at  an  end  forever.  And  sacred  in 
the  storehouse  of  her  memory  was  the  never-to-be- 
forgotten  time  when  the  strongest  feelings  of  her 
being  were  stirred  to  their  depths,  and  revealing  in 
one  supreme  moment  all  the  exquisite  bliss,  of 
which  her  ardent  nature  was  capable. 

A  shadow  darkened  the  opening  of  her  tent,  and 
Hamilton  hesitatingly  entered,  accoutered  for  bat- 
tle. Of  late  he  had  shown  deference  to  Gerry's 
wishes  and  rarely  intruded  his  presence  upon  her. 
Perhaps : 

"Consideration,  like  an  angel,  came, 
And  whipped  the  offending  Adam  out  of  him." 

His  marriage  with  Geraldine  Southampton, 
which  had  at  first  seemed  to  him  a  crowning  victory, 
now  confronted  him  as  a  crushing  defeat.  Con- 
science may  for  a  time  be  kept  at  bay,  but  a  day  of 
reckoning  will  come,  and  the  debt  long  incurred 
will  have  to  be  paid  to  the  uttermost  farthing.  And 
the  Eumenides  had  overtaken  him.  He  paused, 


264  UNCLE  PHIL. 

glancing  at  Gerry.  How  well  he  remembered  her 
gay,  bright  beauty  which  contrasted  so  strangely 
with  the  patient  sorrow  that  now  rarely  left  her 
face.  He  knew  that  his  own  hand  had  wrought 
this  change.  He  knew  that  he  was  accountable  for 
this  fearful  work  of  destruction,  and  it  was  useless 
to  plead  that  it  was  greater  than  he  had  intended. 

It  had  been  long  delayed,  but  he  now  felt  him- 
self in  the  grasp  of  a  remorse  that  would  never 
leave  him ;  and  of  late  he  had  been  having  premoni- 
tions, which  he  accepted  as  a  certainty  that  the 
next  battle  he  went  into  would  be  his  last;  and 
he  had  a  longing  to  hear  Gerry  say  that  she  forgave 
him.  There  had  been  a  time  when  his  cool,  scien- 
tific, atrocity  seemed  rather  to  belong  to  a  fiend 
than  the  most  depraved  of  men.  But  now  he  stood 
in  her  presence  abashed.  He  had  come  to  sue  for 
her  forgiveness. 

The  inconsistencies  of  human  nature  have  been 
wonderful  in  all  ages.  The  wicked  King  John, 
when  he  saw  that  his  end  was  approaching,  gave 
especial  directions  that  his  body  should  be  buried 
close  to  the  grave  of  Saint  Wulstan,  who  had  great 
reputation  for  sanctity ;  perhaps  thinking  it  would 
be  some  guarantee  of  safety  in  the  next  world. 

Hamilton  spoke  .with  timidity,  his  eyes  cast 
down: 

"I  am  ordered  to  the  front,  and  it  is  not  probable 
that  I  shall  live  to  return — Geraldine." 


UNCLE  PHIL.  265 

She  looked  at  him  quickly,  with  a  slight  frown, 
the  concluding  vocative  displeased  her,  and  she 
replied  with  a  mocking  emphasis : 

"Did  not  the  Athenians  wreath  with  laurel  the 
sword  that  killed  the  Pisistratidae?" 

This  man  who  had  been  so  hard  of  heart,  whose 
whole  life  had  been  a  selfish  seeking  after  his  own 
ends,  actually  paled  at  her  tones,  and  gaspingly 
he  said: 

"Death  is  horrible!" 

"Not  yours,"  she  answered,  "and  if  I  wrere  a  Ro- 
manist I  would  then  burn  six  great  candles  to  our 
Lady  of  Good  Succor  in  thankfulness  for  my  free- 
dom." 

It  is  strange  that  now,  when  he  was  using  his 
best  effort  to  soften  her,  he  should  so  go  on  from 
bad  to  worse — using  the  very  words  of  all  others 
the  most  calculated  to  inflame  her. 

"I  am  asking  your  forgiveness.  I  am  your  hus- 
band." 

An  expression  immediately  settled  on  her  face 
different  from  even  intense  anger  in  its  absolute 
pitilessness.  Her  voice  took  on  harsh,  strange  in- 
tonations, indescribable,  as  she  asked : 

"Are  you  trying  to  exert  the  superiority  of  a 
man?  And  at  this  late  day  dare  you  claim  the 
prerogative  of  a  husband?  I  am  a  lonely  woman 
with  my  affections  warped,  not  crushed.  What  have 
you  made  my  life  but  one  desperate  struggle— one 


266  UNCLE  PHIL. 

long  agony?  Man,  do  you  know  what  you  have 
made  me?  I  am  abhorrent  to  myself.  And  there 
has  always  been  the  stinging  sense  of  an  injury  un- 
requited— a  dishonor  unavenged — a  debt  uncan- 
celed ;  and  now  you  ask  me  to  forgive  you ;  and  you 
seek  aid  from  me  in  this  eleventh  hour  to  quiet  the 
tumult  raging  between  a  hardened  heart  and  a  re- 
morseful conscience.  No!  You  have  sown  the 
dragon's  teeth  and  the  armed  warriors  have  risen 
to  confront  you— your  eyes  in  death  will  look  upon 
them.  Go !" 

A  sob  escaped  the  wretched  Hamilton  as  he 
turned  hopelessly  to  depart. 

Uncle  Phil,  who,  crouching  in  a  corner,  had 
been  an  unnoticed  witness  of  this  interview,  now 
sprang  forward,  and,  throwing  himself  on  his 
knees  before  Gerry,  pleaded  with  uplifted  hands : 

"Oh!  chile!  chile!  fer  my  sake — fer  y'u  sake — 
fer  de  honor  ob  de  Southamptons !  say  y'u  fergive 
him !  Somethin'  in  my  ole  heart  seems  ter  say  dat 
he  is  gwine  ter  his  doom.  Don't  lay  up  dat  sin  ter  be 
arnswerd  fer  dat  y'u  'fused  fergiveness  ter  er  man 
on  his  de'th-baid,  so  ter  speak,  an'  saunt  his  soul  ter 
torment.  Chile !  chile !  jes  say  y'u  fergive  him !  jes 
dis  onct!" 

Gerry  looked  down  on  the  old  man.  He  was  now 
grasping  her  dress,  his  eyes  streaming,  and  his  lips 
continuing  to  move  in  wordless  supplication. 

Miracles  have  not  ceased,  then  occurred  one  as 


UNCLE  PHIL.  267 

tremendous  as  when,  at  the  stroke  of  Moses,  the  liv- 
ing waters  flowed  from  the  dry  rock,  and  approxi- 
mating in  grandeur  the  divine  words  of  forgiveness 
uttered  on  the  cross  by  a  dying  Savior. 

Gerry  placed  her  hands  on  the  white  head  of 
Uncle  Phil,  and  let  them  rest  there,  as  if  to  gather 
strength  to  speak  the  words  which  almost  seemed 
to  take  her  life,  though  they  were  few: 

"I  forgive  you.    Go  in  peace." 

Hamilton  quitted  the  tent  with  his  head  droop- 
ing. Three  hours  later  he  was  killed  in  battle. 

Disaster  after  disaster  followed  the  arms  of  the 
South  until  there  came  that  awful  defeat  before 
Franklin. 

For  some  time  past  Gerry  had  been  viewing  with 
great  concern  the  condition  of  Uncle  Phil  on  whom 
privations  and  troubles  had  increased  in  an  in- 
verse ratio  with  his  ability  to  bear  up  under  them. 
He  was  old  and  poor,  but  not  alone.  The  child  he 
had  brought  "bird  aigs  ter,  an'  hilt  er  umereller 
ober,"  was  now  a  woman,  and  in  her  turn  was 
ready  to  care  for  him.  And  she  resolved  that  what- 
ever length  of  life  should  be  allotted  to  him  should 
be  accomplished  in  such  ease,  and  with  such  com- 
forts, as  her  best  efforts  would  be  able  to  procure 
for  him. 

She  had  been  tenderly  brought  up,  and  lovingly 
shielded  from  all  rough  contact;  and  it  seemed  an 
appalling  thing  to  leave  such  helps  as  still  sur- 


268  UNCLE  PHIL. 

rounded  her,  and  to  step  out  in  the  cold,  perhaps 
unfriendly  world,  and  join  the  army  of  bread-win- 
ners battling  for  subsistence.  But  the  strength  of 
her  purpose  required  neither  concentration  nor  ar- 
rangement— many  of  her  instincts  seemed  to  have 
the  basis  of  reason;  and  quickly  she  evolved  her 
plans — all  for  the  welfare  of  Uncle  Phil. 

She  wrote  a  letter,  a  kindly  letter  to  Hamilton's 
mother,  saying  that  her  son  had  perished  in  battle 
fighting  gallantly,  and  that  his  interment  had  taken 
place  with  due  care,  and  that  when  his  mother 
wished,  his  remains  could  be  removed  for  burial 
with  the  others  of  his  family.  And  for  herself  she 
renounced  forever  such  pecuniary  interest  as 
might  be  hers  at  law.  Then  Gerry  took  an  affec- 
tionate leave  of  the  people  with  whom  she  had  been 
living  so  long,  and  went  away  with  Uncle  Phil  to 
Nashville,  where  she  established  herself  not  in  a 
boarding  house,  but  in  a  small  cottage,  and  Uncle 
Phil  fairly  reveled  in  the  management  of  their 
small  housekeeping. 

Gerry's  beautiful  hand-writing  readily  secured 
for  her  plenty  of  copying  to  do  for  the  lawyers,  and 
she  not  only  earned  sufficient  for  their  absolute 
wants,  but  also  to  furnish  Uncle  Phil  with  such 
clothing  as  gladdened  his  heart, 

In  his  neat  suit  of  black  broadcloth,  and  with 
his  gold-head  cane  he  presented  a  venerable,  and, 
as  he  fully  persuaded  himself,  a  dignified  appear- 


UNCLE  PHIL.  269 

a  nee,  as  he  passed  and  repassed  the  principal 
streets  carrying  a  portfolio  containing  Gerry's 
copyings.  And  on  one  day,  when  a  large  rocking- 
chair  was  bought  for  his  own  use,  his  joy  knew  no 
bounds. 

"But,  Miss  Gerry,  honey,  I  ain't  sho'  dat  it  ain't 
onproper  fer  me  ter  be  settin'  in  dat  cheer.  Now  ef 
it  wus  er  cricket  it  wouldn't  be  onproper.  In  Wir- 
ginny,  ole  Miss  she  had  crickets  settin'  round  mos' 
eber  wh'ar  fer  us  sarvents  ter  set  oursefs  on." 

"Good  Gracious,  Uncle  Phil !"  said  Gerry  with  a 
smile,  "how  could  you  ever  sit  on  a  cricket?" 

"Dat's  so,  chile;  'do  I  mought  manage  ter  set 
down  on  it — but  dar's  de  gettin'  up,  which  would  be 
diffikilt,  wid  my  ole,  stiff  knees." 

The  rocking-chair  proved  of  great  comfort  to  him, 
and  hour  after  hour  he  would  sit  rocking  himself 
gently,  crooning  old-time  hymns. 

To  do  one's  duty  willingly  and  honestly  in  the 
state  of  life  decreed  by  Providence  always  ensures 
content,  and  often  happiness.  And  youth  is  such 
a  beautiful,  bountiful  possession,  with  its  elastic 
spirit  and  its  inexhaustible  resources. 

Gerry  had  lost  the  feeling  of  being  over-weighted, 
and  with  no  heart  for  the  race  of  life,  and  she  no 
longer  felt  inclined  to  challenge  fate,  and  to  im- 
peach its  hard  decrees.  She  was  not  living  a  life 
of  idleness  and  frivolity,  but  a  full,  dignified  life  of 


270  UNCLE  PHIL. 

practical  usefulness.  And  Uncle  Phil  frequently 
declared : 

"I  neber  'lowed  ter  be  so  happy  ergin  in  dis 
world." 

And  so  time  went  on  until  the  whole  country 
went  wild  over  the  peace  that  was  made  at  the  Ap- 
pomattox  Court  House. 

There  came  a  day,  when  Gerry  was  sitting  at  her 
writing,  when  Uncle  Phil  rushed  in.  As  usual,  she 
looked  up  to  give  him  the  welcoming  smile,  and  it 
was  easy  to  see  that  something  unusual  had  oc- 
curred. The  old  man's  appearance  and  demeanor 
indicated  the  pressure  of  some  strong  mental  ex- 
citement. He  grinned — his  eyes  rolled — and  he 
took  one  or  two  dancing  steps,  chuckling  like  a  boy. 

Gerry  smiled  pleasantly,  expecting  nothing  more 
had  happened  than  that  he  had  found  some  "high 
quality  white  gempleman,"  who  had  listened  with 
interest  to  his  talk  about  Virginia,  and  perhaps  the 
Southamptons.  But  he  burst  out,  quivering  with 
excitement : 

"Oh !  Miss  Gerry,  chile,  honey,  don't  'cite  y'use'f. 
T'aint  nuthin!  it  mought  happen  eber  day — but 
I  jess  heard  from  Marse  Paul — I  seed  him,  an'  here 
he  is." 

This  was  all  the  preparation,  but : 

"If  he  is  sick  with  joy,  he  will 
Recover  without  a  physician." 

And  the  two  persons,  to  whom  their  love  had 


UNCLE  PHIL.  271 

caused  so  much  grief,  now  stood  face  to  face  with 
no  longer  an  unbridged  gulf  between  them.  Uncle 
Phil  had  withdrawn.  And  surely  this  was  a  meet- 
ing to  be  witnessed  only  by  the  angels. 

Sometimes  fortune  comes  with  both  hands  full; 
and  it  was  not  a  modest  tap,  but  a  bold  roulade  on 
the  knocker  which  drew  Uncle  Phil  to  the  door,  and 
in  a  few  moments  he  reappeared,  but  not  alone. 
And  now,  it  was  not  the  joy  of  earth,  but  the  pure 
light  of  Heaven  that  glistened  in  his  eyes,  and  his 
voice  had  taken  on  an  intonation  it  never  had  be- 
fore. There  was  no  preamble. 

"Miss  Gerry,  I  have  de  honor  ter  denounce  ter  y'u 
de  safe  return  ob  our  young  gemplemens.  Glory 
ter  de  Lord!" 

The  young  Southamptons  had  indeed  returned. 
And  the  cup  of  happiness  which  had  been  so  long 
in  its  plenishing  now  flowed  over,  and  they  drank 
of  its  sweet  waters  in  silent  thankfulness. 

An  unusual  sound  drew  their  attention  to  Uncle 
Phil.  He  was  standing,  but  unsteadily.  His  body 
swayed — his  trembling  hands  were  crossed  on  his 
breast,  and  the  strangely  musical  voice  was  again 
heard : 

"Mine  eyes  hab  seed  de  glory  ob  de  Lord!  Let 
thy  sarvent  now  depart  in  peace." 

It  was  Gerry  who  sprang  and  caught  the  falling 
body  in  her  strong  young  arms,  but  the  Messenger 
had  been  before  her.  Uncle  Phil  was  dead. 


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